


And Your Enemies Closer

by zalil



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Awesome Crowley (Supernatural), Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Dom Crowley (Supernatural), Dom/sub Undertones, Exhibitionism, F/M, Heartbreak, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Smut, Some Plot, Spanking, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2019-11-19 05:10:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 70,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18131378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zalil/pseuds/zalil
Summary: What happens when you join Team Free Will and meet the King of Hell? Shameless smut!





	1. Chapter 1

Since you had read what later turned out to be the gospel of Chuck, you should have recognized the signs of ghost activity in the old library in your neighborhood pretty quickly. People were talking about trespassers in the night who appeared to be throwing around first books, then tall bookshelves. Books had been ripped apart and whole sections had been doused in water. You completely dismissed the possibility of ghosts being real, but still, you were curious and visited the library a few times during the day, finding cold spots around the older parts of the building – could this be a coincidence? 

The main entrance to the library was visible from the kitchen window in your small flat and you decided to keep an eye on it. Since your daily life at the office seldom provided any excitement, you hoped to find out a little more about the case of the flying books. You moved your favorite chair in front of your kitchen window and started spending the evenings there, usually with a book in hand. You never saw anyone enter after closing time until well after the stories of the supposed trespassers made it into the town newspaper and website. Then, one night, you caught sight of two familiar young men, one tall with shoulder-length hair, the other one smaller with short hair, who quietly let themselves into the library at night. After a few moments of revelation and the subsequent paradigm shift you grabbed a salt shaker and a cast iron pan and dashed after them.

You didn’t have to save the Winchesters, of course, but they were happy about the unexpected help. The ghost turned out to be one half of an unhappy couple that had committed suicide a few decades ago and you were able to direct Sam and Dean to their grave. After the ghost was sent into the afterlife or wherever ghosts went after the salting and burning of their mortal remains, you decided to climb into Baby and stay with the hunters for some time. Not many people had the opportunity to do something really worthwhile and you could use a fresh start. Sam and Dean welcomed you into their lives like a little sister. While you certainly didn’t need to be protected and patronized, you enjoyed their attention and the camaraderie life at the bunker brought with it. 

The current hunt of the week proved to be difficult. There were several signs of a crossroads demon cashing in early on their deals, yet nobody involved knew anything about the perpetrator. Without further information you were at a dead end. Dean and Sam looked long and hard at each other and sighed. The recently appointed king of hell, Crowley, whom they seemingly didn’t like or trust had to be involved and the Winchesters weren’t happy about it at all. You had heard bits and pieces about the former crossroads demon and were curious to meet him. After a quick call from Dean, Crowley materialized in the war room of the bunker. 

When he appeared, in a relaxed stance with his hands in his pockets, Sam introduced him to you as “Crowley, King of hell”. 

Behind Crowley’s back, Dean muttered obnoxiously, “More like King of the Douchebags”. 

“Hello, boys,” Crowley intoned sarcastically. 

Despite Dean’s quips, it was noticeable that the boys were wary of Crowley and you knew why. He was an imposing figure, clad all in dark. He moved slowly and deliberately and power seemed to radiate off him in waves.

“Hi there,” you tried not to seem too impressed. “My name is y/n.”

“Y/n,” Crowley greeted you with an ironic bow and let his gaze swipe over you before he turned back to Sam and Dean. They approached the table, discussing the reports the Winchesters had received from hunters around the area in which the victims had lived. 

“None of the victims lived south of Dallas,” you pitched in, skimming the newspaper articles on your laptop and double-checking the maps, “and none north of Oklahoma city. It seems to happen in a 100 mile radius around… Ardmore, Oklahoma.” You finished marking the mysterious deaths on a map with a red pen and handed it to Sam. 

“Good work,” he smiled at you. 

While Sam and Dean took a seat and looked for area- or crossroads-demon-related entries in their dad’s journal, Crowley settled into a comfortable chair at the table right across from you and stared at you over your laptop. Unsettled, you busied yourself with an unnecessary online search for more possible victims. Whenever you glanced up, the demon’s eyes were fixed on you. Sam and Dean were engrossed in the journal and you ducked back down to your laptop when a light breeze moved against the left side of your neck. You cursed the ventilation in the bunker and tried to pull up your cardigan against the draft when you noticed Crowley’s eyes dancing merrily above your screen. Upon inspection, he tried to look innocent and failed miserably. A small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. You raised your eyebrows at him for a second but returned to your search.

A few moments later, you felt something again, a soft touch like a feather against your neck, slowly sliding up to the sensitive skin behind your ear, then down your neckline. Goosebumps erupted on your arms and you looked up, directly into Crowley’s smoldering eyes. He kept his eyes unerringly on yours while he directed the sensation another inch down your breast with a small flick of a finger. Your heartbeat quickened and you felt your face heat up. Crowley seemed to revel in your reaction and made the sensation spread out until it felt like two hands caressing your breasts, slipping lightly over your nipples. His eyes flickered to your chest as your nipples rose to attention and your eyes fluttered closed for a moment. Stunned and intrigued, you didn’t even think of protesting. The hands continued their way downwards, gripping your waist, the thumbs traveling towards your back and running little circles there. 

“Y/n?” Dean prompted, standing next to you and apparently already asking for the second time. Startled, you tried to recall from your phonological memory what he had asked. 

“A drink, yes,” you answered, then stood up so suddenly that you tipped your chair over. “Stay, I’ll get it,” you added. 

Crowley winked at you as you put the chair up again. Bending down, you were conscious of the extended view of your cleavage you were giving him. He traced a finger along his lower lip and you felt his gaze on your backside as you left the room. 

The fridge and the beer that came from it were blessedly cool. You took out four bottles, held one to your neck and closed your eyes. What was Crowley playing at? And why were you playing along? While you didn’t know the first one, the second question was quickly settled. In theory, you were a self-reflective, independent, self-sufficient woman; in practice, you had a thing for handsome, mysterious and powerful men. Flirting was more fun when it was at the risk of one’s life, apparently.

The talking outside became a rustling and Dean entered the kitchen. 

“Everything all right?” he asked, frowning at your posture. You set the bottle next to the others at the counter and nodded at him.

“Crowley knows a demon who could be it.” Dean said. “Want to take a breather? Sam and I are okay to interview him alone, if you don’t mind staying to man the phones, in case Kevin calls?”

It was nice of Dean to make it sound like you could be essential to the hunt. The phones didn’t really need manning, but you did need a breather. 

You nodded again, “Good idea. Go on, I’ll call if I find out anything else.”

He clapped you on the shoulder and turned back to the war room. They boys grabbed their gear, said goodbye and stood next to Crowley who apparated them away. Didn’t even look at you again, the dick. On impulse, you turned back to the kitchen, took out the flour from the pantry and started on a pie dough.

Already a few minutes later one set of footsteps echoed in the corridor of the bunker. It seemed strange that only one Winchester would return so soon. You realized you had no weapons on you, dusted the flour off your hands and set a steak knife on the counter within your reach. As the steps slowed down, your inkling of who might turn the corner into the kitchen entrance grew, and with it a mixture of dread and excitement. Before you could sneak to the open door and look, Crowley turned the corner and leaned against the frame.

“You’re back early,” you tried to sound unimpressed. “Didn’t find the demon?”

A small smile played on Crowley’s lips. “Oh, we found him all right. The boys are ‘questioning’ him at this moment, but I couldn’t be seen with the good guys, could I? That would damage my reputation beyond repair. So don’t worry, we are alone.”

“That’s exactly what I was worried about,” you answered, only half in jest.

He entered the kitchen and you took a step back, backing off as much as he advanced until your backside hit the counter. The knife lay to your left, but against a demon it was useless.  
“You didn’t seem to be afraid before,” he smiled as he sauntered closer.

“I’m a good girl,” you said, trying to convince yourself as much as him. 

“I’m sure you are,” he brushed your comment away. “Now, however will be pass the time until I have to retrieve the boys?” he asked, already closing in on you and sliding his hands around your hips. He lifted you to sit on the counter – it seemed so effortless, there had to have been at least a little demon mojo in that – and set his hands on your knees, spreading them until he was standing between them. Up close you noticed his scent, warm, rich and smokey with only a hint of what could be cologne. He took your chin in hand and turned your face up towards his. 

“Any idea, kitten?” 

Your brain had set into standby and you couldn’t have expressed an idea if you tried. “I..” you started, then you were cut off as he captured your lips with his. Slowly, he moved his lips on yours. In your panic ( _too close_ \- _too much_ \- _danger_ \- _demon_ ) you grabbed the knife but without looking he brought his hand down on yours and held it before you could move. 

“No scratching, kitty,” he murmured against your mouth. That jump-started at least part of your brain and you leaned into him, kissing back and opening up for his tongue. You had tried to prevent this fraternization with the enemy but obviously, there was no stopping it. You decided to stop trying and told your conscience to back off. To your surprise, there was no trace of sulfur in the kiss, he tasted no different from any regular human. Your blood was pounding in your ears, your mind was reeling and you gave up trying to control anything about the situation. 

When Crowley felt you relax, he let go of your hand and sneaked both of his into your cardigan and under your shirt, exploring where only his mojo had gone before. His hands ran up your to your shoulders and down the small of your back to your ass, gliding onto your thighs. You felt a shiver run down your spine. He moved up again to caress your breasts. With a snap of his fingers, your bra suddenly disappeared. Hadn’t your mouth been occupied, you would have squeaked indignantly at the cheeky removal. It was forgotten a second later, when Crowley’s hands returned to your breasts, sliding gently over them, then rubbing softly over your nipples. 

You broke the kiss to gasp for air and looked at your unlikely companion. While you were panting and felt your cheeks burning, he looked cool as a cucumber. While you caught your breath, he slid his hand into your hair and loosened the tie until it fell down on your shoulders. 

“So,” he started, then his trousers started to vibrate. Visibly annoyed, he retrieved his mobile phone from his pocket and you saw “Not moose” flashing on his screen. Still caressing the back of your neck with one hand, he answered. You could hear Dean’s accusing voice through the speaker and smiled. 

“Yes, master, nothing would please me more, master,” Crowley droned in the most boring voice he could manage and clapped the phone shut.

“Duty calls,” he whispered against your ear and kissed your neck. 

“Pity,” you whispered back and sighed. 

Crowley looked at you and smiled, presumably at the state of your disarray.

“Nice to meet you, kitten,” he said and straightened his tie and jacket.

“Likewise,” you answered, and a moment later, you were alone. 

The kitchen was deadly quiet and you were so keyed up, you could have laughed, screamed or cried. You opted for finishing the dough instead, kneading it vigorously and throwing in a few strawberries from afar. It was not going to be the best pie you had ever made, but you didn’t care. 

A few minutes later, you heard chatter and footsteps from the corridor. Dean’s voice carried into the kitchen before he arrived. Too late you realized you should have looked into a mirror before the boys arrived home.

“We’re home,” they called and Dean entered the kitchen, eyes fixed on the oven. 

“I smell pie,” he smiled, “You’re the best.”

Then his gaze flickered back to you and he stared. “Pie accident?”

You looked down at yourself and noticed your hair was flowing wildly around your head, you were probably still flushed and your butt was dusted in flour from when you had been sitting on the counter. Embarrassed, you thought of an excuse, but Dean wasn’t even looking at you any more. When you followed his gaze, you found your bra hanging from the door of the fridge. Dean lifted it with one finger and raised his eyebrow at you. 

“It was restricting,” you stammered, blushing and grabbing the damn thing. Dean did not lower his eyebrow.

“Oh, shut up,” you said and stormed out of the kitchen in a fake snit. You were not disappointed that Sam and Dean had returned alone, or so you told yourself.


	2. Chapter 2

The next days, there was no job for Team Free Will to be found and so Sam and you went on indexing the library into a system you could actually use. Dean grew increasingly restless and by late afternoon on the third day, he decided that enough nerdy book stuff had transpired and announced a mandatory night out. While watching Dean chat up another girl with big tits and little self-respect was not very tempting, you needed a change of air, to take your mind off a certain villain who had wormed his way into your bedtime fantasies. You loved a man who took charge and for that proclivity, Crowley was a perfect match. His attentions had been unexpected but welcome. Lying in your bed at night, the thought of his demanding kisses made your heartbeat quicken and you felt yourself quickly get wet. A few well-placed rubs were enough to make you come. You bit your lip to stop his name from slipping out – the last thing you needed was to trigger some freaky demon sex summoning. 

Sam agreed to go out and so in the evening, Dean steered Baby to one of the bars a little way from Lebanon. In honor of the occasion you had dressed up in your tightest jeans and put on a little more make up than usual. The boys had had to wait for you to perfect your smokey eyes and took revenge by singing along loudly to AC/DC in the car.

Since you had driven a little farther than usual – Sam and Dean kept a low profile by switching around bars, supermarkets and gas stations – the bar you visited was a little bigger and nicer than the usual dive. Sam and Dean immediately turned towards the bright area to the right of the bar where several pool tables were in use. You sat at a table at the side and watched them play a demonstrative game against each other, exchanging money to attract gamblers. It didn’t take long and one after another pseudo alpha male came up to the table to prove he was better than them. Sam left the table and sat with you while Dean ripped them all off with a smile, as usual.

After a while, you needed the ladies' room and made your way through the crowd. You crossed the part of the bar where the lights were lowered and modern chairs and couches were arranged in groups. In the dim light, everything seemed more cozy and private. You did your business, checked your hair and make up and started to go back. As you let your gaze sweep over the crowd, assessing the guests, you felt someone watch you. 

You turned around and realized it was someone sitting by themselves in a corner. They were surrounded by a cloud of smoke and clad all in black – your heart leaped. Like pulled to a magnet, you approached him. Crowley was sitting in a fauteuil, smoking and drinking an amber liquid. He didn’t seem surprised to see you at all. 

“Y/n,” he greeted you in mock surprise. “Fancy meeting you here. Please, join me.”

You smiled and sat on the couch next to him. “What a coincidence,” you played along. “I’ve always wondered where demons go to party.”

A waiter hurried to set down a drink you hadn’t ordered in front of you and you turned to see Crowley wave him away, cigar in hand. You took a cautious sip and determined it was some kind of gin drink. You liked it, even though God knew what it could be spiked with. You inclined your head in the waiter’s direction and looked at Crowley with a raised eyebrow. 

“I keep a few of my vassals around. Sometimes, they’re useful,” he explained and raised his glass towards you. “Cheers, kitten.”

The thought that you had made out with someone who had lackeys was ridiculous and made you smile. You raised your glass and drank. 

“So, what brings you here, of all the bars in the world?” you asked.

Crowley took a sip of his drink and smiled. “Gathering intelligence on my favorite nemeses, of course. Assessing their gambling income, drinking habits and so on.”

“A job that must be as tiresome as unrewarding,” you quipped. “You should have sent a text and asked what we’re doing, we’d have told you.”

“Ah, it’s no hardship. And you know the saying, keep your friends close and your enemies closer,” he smirked. 

“So, am I close enough?” you asked playfully. 

He laughed and set down his cigar. “Not nearly enough, kitten.”

You felt yourself blush. As a diversion, you asked about his drink and received a little introduction into the world of scotch. Talking to him was easy and the way he would look at you when you spoke made you feel desirable and a little reckless. He made no secret out of what he wanted from you when he let his gaze wander over you.

After a little while, a man who seemed to be one of the “vassals” sidled up to Crowley and whispered in his ear in agitation. Crowley listened, then dragged a finger across his throat. His lackey nodded and left. The exchange chilled you. What had you just witnessed – a death sentence? You remembered that you were flirting with a soulless demon, not a grumpy villain from a movie who was really good at heart. The thought made your heart beat faster. 

You drank from your gin. “Why did you help us, anyway?” you asked, sincerely interested. 

Amused, he looked at you. “I’m not partial as to who I work with, as long as there is something in it for me. I needed to know who was ruining my business and to correct that which aligned nicely with your plans. Also, it seems to be wise to stay on the good side of the Winchesters and any of their … associates.” 

“Lucky us. Well, I should get back to the boys,” you announced. “They’ll think I got lost.”

“Or,” he suggested, leaning forwards and laying a hand on your thigh, “we could settle our… unfinished business.” 

He looked in your eyes and let his hand wander a little higher. 

“I really shouldn’t,” you said, biting your lower lip and not moving an inch.

He smiled, knowing he had you. “You really should.”

“You are a dangerous man,” you sighed.

“Dangerous can be exciting,” he replied softly, leaned forwards and kissed your neck. You stood. 

“Give me a moment,” you said. You strode back to the pool tables where Sam played while Dean was sitting at the table, talking to a pretty brunette. You winked at Dean, grabbed your jacket and approached Sam. While Sam was not any less protective of you than Dean, he trusted your own judgment better and wouldn’t question you so much. You whispered in his ear, told him that you had found somebody and were returning to the bunker on your own. They shouldn’t wait up. Sam raised his eyebrows at you but smiled and nodded. Guiltily, you avoided his eyes as you slunk away. They would kill you if they found out who you were consorting with. Then, they would bring you back to life and kill you again for not telling them where to look for you in case you needed help. Oh well. If all went well, they would never know. 

You walked back to the sitting area on air. It felt surreal. Normally, you were a controlled sort of person, somebody who always had a plan and a back-up plan as well. Now, you had no idea what to expect and knew for a fact there was nothing to be done if you were in over your head. 

When you arrived at his table, Crowley stood, appraising you. You could tell he was curious as to what conclusion you had come to. 

You gathered all your courage, stepped up to him, ran your fingertips lightly through the stubble on his cheek and for the first time, initiated a soft kiss. 

“I had to tell Sam and Dean, otherwise they would have started a rescue mission for me. It’s suspended for now,” you murmured, “so I’m all yours.”

Crowley ran his hands through your hair and softly pulled your head back until you looked up at him. He let his eyes flash red, then dived in for a thorough kiss. Overwhelmed, you closed your eyes. When you felt the air around you move, you opened them again and realized Crowley had moved you through space to what appeared to be a bedroom. You were not relaxed enough to pay much attention to the room, but it seemed comfortable. There was no electric light, but torches and candles that Crowley lit with a wave of his hand. Still kissing, he walked you backwards until your legs hit the foot of a bed.

You let your jacket fall to the floor and Crowley tugged your shirt over your head, exposing the black lace bra you had chosen to wear today along with the matching panties. He let his fingers ghost over your breasts and down to your hips before working on the button of your jeans. You let him open them and pull them down over your hips. After stepping out of jeans and socks, you pushed Crowley’s jacket over his shoulders and started to unfasten his tie. He watched you take it off and slowly open the buttons of his black shirt, then ordered, “Lie down, kitten.” 

You did as told and laid down on the bed. Crowley bowed down, kissing your ankles, then licking his way up the inside of your thighs. Watching him crawl up on the bed towards you sent shivers down your spine. He moved his mouth over your stomach and dipped his tongue into your navel. You moaned. He grinned, snapped his fingers and the rest of your clothes were gone, as were his. He slid up and kissed you deeply. While you were focused on the kiss, he took your hands in his and moved them above your head. Suddenly, you felt something tighten around them and realized he had bound you to the headboard.

“Completely at my mercy, just as I want you,” he murmured. 

“God, yes,” you sighed. You felt heat pooling in your belly and your clit was throbbing insistently. 

“I can assure you, God has nothing to do with it,” he remarked, slid down and hooked his arms under your knees. He drew his tongue in one firm stroke over your lips up to your clit. You squirmed with pleasure from the intense feeling. He licked and sucked around your most sensitive parts, bringing you higher and higher, circling your nub and then flicking his tongue against it. When you started to tremble, he stopped. 

“Please,” you asked for more, but he didn’t give in so easily.

“Please what?” he asked in a husky voice. He would make you ask for it.

“Please, fuck me,” you whispered, embarrassed. 

He slid up and kneeled between your legs, lifted them up and positioned himself. You could feel his heavy cock sliding against your pussy. 

“I am afraid I didn’t quite catch that,” he teased, holding perfectly still. “Come again?”

“Fuck me, Crowley,” you begged and were rewarded as he slid home in one thrust. His considerable size made your walls ache pleasurably as he stretched you. He pulled out again slowly, then set a steady rhythm, thrusting into you hard and not letting up. Your hands were still tightly attached to the bed, so you could only lie and enjoy the ride. After some time, he let himself fall on top of you and licked his way along your carotid while he continued fucking you. You arched your back when you felt his tongue on your neck and shoulder, wordlessly inviting him to go on. When he kept on kissing and licking softly, you whispered, “bite me.” 

He stared into your eyes for a second, probably wondering if he had misheard, then gently bit down where your shoulder connected to your neck. 

“Harder,” you asked, and he complied. He bit down hard, you cried out and felt the muscles in your cunt clench as your orgasm rolled towards you like a wave. 

With a small gesture of Crowley, the bonds on your hands disappeared and he ordered, “touch yourself.” 

You sneaked your hand between the two of you and a few strokes over your clit were enough to bring the pleasure that had built up to a climax. You came long and hard, digging your nails into Crowley’s back. Your contractions seemed to bring him over the edge too, he thrust a few more times, then stayed inside you as you felt wetness flood your insides. Demon semen, you thought, aroused by the sheer forbiddenness of what you were doing.

At last, he pulled out and let himself fall down on his back next to you. You were both breathing heavily and you could still feel your walls throb and clench. Crowley turned to you and ran his hands over your breasts and belly. When your brain caught up with what was happening, the feeling of apprehension grew again. Nobody knew where you were and you were not sure whether Crowley was going to simply take you back upstairs, even though he seemed content and agreeable now.

“You’re hurt,” he said, eyeing your neck where you still felt the imprint of his teeth. It had to be visible, still.

“Would you like me to heal it? A small deal for a kiss and it’s gone,” he suggested but you smiled and touched the bite. 

“As you may have noticed, I didn’t mind so much,” you countered. “Don’t even think of holding back, next time.” 

When the words were spoken, you wondered, self-consciously, if you had presumed too much. “If, you know, you want there to be a next time. If not, that’s fine, you didn’t promise anything...” 

You realized you were babbling and stopped. Crowley was watching you in amusement.

“Stop overthinking, kitten,” he said and pinched your nipple. You stomach growled loudly and again, you felt embarrassed and out of place. 

“Sorry,” you said sheepishly. Crowley just laughed and stood up. With a snap of his fingers, he was wearing a dressing gown. He walked to the door, opened it and shouted out a few names. You heard what you thought must be a few demons appearing and answering. You were ninety percent sure you were actually in some chambers of hell right now.

Crowley chucked out a large iron key and ordered, “You’re walking Juliet tonight,” earning a few groans. The air crackled, someone screamed and he ordered again, in a lower voice, “The rest of you is gladly walking Juliet tonight.” 

This time, a symphony of “Yes, master,” and “Thank you, master,” answered and he seemed content. 

“I’ve been a terrible host,” he said to you with a wink. “Let’s get you something to eat and drink.”

“I’ve been very satisfied with your care so far,” you smiled back.

“Any preferences?” he asked, changing into his suit again. You wondered what he was going to do, order in in hell? 

“What’s on the menu?” you asked cautiously.

“I am the King of Hell,” he answered, fastening his cuff links. “Everything’s on the menu.”

You considered your appetite and concluded, “I’m in the mood for Japanese, actually.”

Crowley ‘happened’ to know just the place. You dressed quickly, took his arm and, in the blink of an eye, you were in front of a restaurant in Kyoto, Japan, standing in the bright midday sun. Judging by the certificates on the wall and the owner’s deferential behavior towards your companion, you guessed the owner’s cooking skills had a supernatural touch and an expiration date in ten years. He seated you on tatami mats in a small private room, looking out into a garden where colorful koi were swimming in a pond. The food was delicious and you grew more and more relaxed in Crowley’s presence. When you were both finished, Crowley zapped you directly into your room in the bunker. 

You hovered, not sure how to say goodbye. 

“Mischief managed,” Crowley said and smirked. He kissed you lightly on the cheek. 

“See you around, kitten,” he said and was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day was washing day, you decided, since your clothes smelled of sulfur from all the zapping around and you really didn’t want the boys to kill you. Freshly showered, in clean clothes and with a towel turban on your head, you declared yourself safe and walked into the kitchen where Sam was surfing the internet and Dean was shoveling ungodly amounts of food into himself. 

“Ah, our stray has returned!” Dean grumbled between bites. He seemed conflicted between congratulating you on scoring and scolding you for having been picked up.

“Good morning,” Sam said, smiling. 

"Good morning indeed," you replied and snagged a piece of bacon off Dean's plate. He hit your fingers with his fork, but let you.

You could tell they were bursting with curiosity about your night, but you weren't going to offer any information. 

"So, what's today's monster?" you asked innocently, acting as if you didn't notice the big question marks hanging over their heads. You turned to the stove, turned up the heat and poured a generous amount of pancake dough into the pan.

"There's a possible ghost in a monastery in Topeka," Sam answered, turning the screen of his laptop so you could see the headlines of the Topeka newspaper, which announced a priest's visions of the Lord floating through his church. 

"Also, according to the Men of Letters, a mysterious relic we could definitely use is hidden somewhere in there," Dean added, spearing a pancake and trying to shove it in his mouth as a whole. "The Nanteos cup."

It was a massacre. You quickly looked away and caught Sam's disgusted grimace.

"Some think it's the holy grail," Sam explained. "But the lore says it's probably just a really old wooden cup with healing abilities. The Powell family brought it from England and hid it. There are several leads that point towards the Topeka church."

The thought of robbing a church didn't sit well with you, but on a pragmatic level, you knew it was better to do it and be able to protect more people in the future than to stay faithful and let them hurt or die. 

Sam got up and left the room, returning with a set of fake clergyman IDs that he tossed on the table. 

"What's the plan?" you asked, putting your pancake on a plate and sitting down to eat.

"As church officials, we're going to have to investigate this vision, of course," Sam said, in a fake business tone of voice, eyes twinkling.

"Does that mean there will be cassocks?" you asked, waggling your eyebrows. The boys grinned. 

 

*

Since it seemed implausible that a woman would accompany two clergymen in an investigation like that, the three of you decided you would play the part of a regular worshiper, enter the church before Sam and Dean and distract anyone who could endanger the mission.

When you arrived at the church, Dean and Sam let you get out of the car, parked it a block away and changed into their cassocks while you entered the beautiful building. As it was late afternoon and no mass was scheduled, there were only two people in the church, sitting quietly on the wooden benches. The afternoon sun shone in warm colors through the stained glass windows. You slipped into the front pew and waited for the Winchesters. A priest entered from the right side of the sanctuary and quietly straightened the chairs of the choir.

Just then Sam and Dean entered, bickering uncharacteristically loudly, especially considering the roles they were playing.

"This is our case and neither your presence nor your so called assistance is welcome!" Sam bitched.

"You better get gone fast or I swear we'll make you…" Dean added and a quick shuffling of feet could be heard. You smiled. 

When you turned, you saw Crowley ducking away from Dean, who had apparently dipped his whole hand into the holy water font and was trying to hit Crowley with as much water as he could. Your felt your cheeks redden when you looked at the three men's attire. What was it that made men in soutanes so ridiculously attractive? While Sam and Dean were a little young to pull it off and always needed to rely on their well-made IDs, Father Crowley had an age and a natural grace that fitted the cassock well – when he wasn't trying to evade the holy water fountain Dean had created, that was. 

The priest and the two civilians looked up in irritation at the relative ruckus the three others had raised in the otherwise silent church. They fell silent, straightened and approached the sanctuary in a fast stride, each one wanting to arrive first. When Crowley noticed you and your eyes met, his lips curled nearly imperceptibly upwards. You felt your heart speeding up in your chest. His hungry look made you flush and you felt as if your thoughts were turned outside for everybody to see. Could demons read minds? You sincerely hoped that Sam or Dean would have told you if that was the case.

Before they had even properly arrived at the sanctuary, Dean leaped into an explanation as to why they were here and needed to speak to the priest immediately. As they had arrived together, they couldn't ditch Crowley and risk him exposing them all. Sam looked at you from afar, pointed at him and signed _Any idea?_. 

Actually, you did. You stood, smoothed down the gray, sensible skirt you had donned today and approached the four of them. Looking specifically at Crowley, you cleared your throat. Dean and the priest stopped talking and all heads turned to you. 

"I'm sorry," you said, wondering how bad a sin it was to lie in a church to a priest, "I didn't want to disturb you, but I wanted to go to confession and I wondered," you looked directly at Crowley again, "if you would be so kind, Father?" 

Amusement and annoyance warred on his face. Were priests allowed to deny confession? You thought you had heard somewhere that they were not. In any case, it would look suspicious if he were to refuse now and it seemed he realized that as well. 

"Go on," Dean encouraged him with a smirk, "we'll manage here."

"Of course," Crowley conceded and indicated the way to the confessional. 

"After you," he growled.

You entered the confessional and sat next to him, grateful for the screen that separated you from his irritated majesty. Not that the screen couldn't be vanished if he were so inclined. There was a horrible tension in the air.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," you started and thought you heard something like an amused snort from the other side of the screen. You thought you might as well make an attempt at confession to keep his interest for some time, until Dean and Sam had ganked the ghost – if there was one – and stolen the cup without him noticing. 

"Until recently, I have lived a life of virtue," you started. "I tried to be honorable, prayed before bedtime, didn't give in to sinful thoughts." 

You paused, wondering how much to divulge.

"Go on, child," Crowley said in a soothing voice and you did.

"Recently, I have met a man. An attractive, charming, evil, wicked man with a mangled, poor excuse of a soul. I've known what he is and yet, I have not turned him away, even encouraged his advances. I've let him take advantage of my body in ways nobody else ever had before."

Silence from the space next to you. In the dark, the words were flowing from you and although the confession was planned merely as a diversion, there was more than a little truth in there.

"I've let him touch me.... let his hands run over my skin, let his tongue lick me in places... I've let him drive his cock into me, hurting me, filling me. I've let him sink his teeth into my flesh, asked him to, even."

You lowered your voice and noted in satisfaction that there were no more amused snorts from the other side of the screen. 

"And I loved every moment of it. Knowing that it was wrong made me want him even more. Knowing that my friends would not approve of my behavior did not deter me. Knowing that he was so powerful, he could end my life by snapping his fingers made me come so hard it nearly hurt.

"And that's not all. I cannot keep my thoughts clean. Lying alone in the dark of my room, I fantasize about him using his powers on me. I imagine myself on my knees before him, bound and unable to resist him."

Your cheeks were burning by now, but you went on. Anything you didn't say now, you would probably never say. 

"I want him to use me as he pleases, with no regard to my comfort. I want to feel his fingers around my neck, squeezing until my life is literally in his hands. I want him to mark me, make it plain for everybody to see what he has done to me." 

To your surprise, tears were prickling the corner of your eyes and your throat tightened. It felt good to say all this aloud, but the shame was burning. You wondered what Crowley would make of this. 

"Do your friends know about your sins?" he asked.

"They don't. Like an idiot, I've laid my life in his hands without a safety net and if he asks me to do it again, I probably will."

"Do you regret your sins?"

"God, I should. I know I did wrong and sinned against the Lord and I would like to say I firmly intend not to do it again, but that would be a lie."

Crowley turned to look directly at you through the screen. The little light in there was reflected in his sparkling eyes and you thought you saw the hint of a smile on his lips. 

"No amount of Lord's prayers can save your soul, kitten," he said, amused. "Go in peace and accept who you are."

You laughed weakly. "May God have mercy on me," you whispered, half in jest.

When Crowley started to get up and leave the confessional, you did the same. You had to distract him, after all. 

As you stood blinking in the relatively bright light, you were pulled behind the confessional, facing away from the sanctuary. Crowley trapped you between himself and the wooden wall. You turned your head to the side, but he gripped your jaw and made you look at him. 

"And if I were to be merciful," he drawled, "would I fulfill your fantasies… or not?"

He dipped his head and let his mouth brush against yours. 

You heard Dean call you name and startled. Afraid that the boys would see you like this, you slid few steps away from Crowley. Eyebrow raised, he let you. You walked towards the sanctuary where Sam and Dean stood, apparently ready to take off again. 

Behind you, you heard Crowley clear your throat. 

"You wouldn't be looking for this, would you?" he asked, dangling an old cup from a finger. Wonderful. So you had been distracting him for nothing and he had known all the time. 

"Goddamn it!" Dean exclaimed and received Sam's elbow into his rib. They were doing horrible jobs of impersonating priests. Luckily, the two other people had left.

"Give it to us," Sam said. "You're a demon, you don't need it."

Crowley smirked. "On the contrary, I have many uses for it. If this is what I think it is, I could torture endlessly and heal with a sip, for example."

Dean stared at him in anger. "You wouldn't dangle it in front of us if you wanted to keep it. What do you want?"

Crowley considered this, then jerked his head in your direction. "Her."

Dean barked out a laugh while Sam and you shared a shocked look, though for different reasons. Crowley continued to surprise you. You had no idea what he wanted with you, but he put you in a difficult situation. How could you reassure the boys that you weren't afraid of whatever he was planning?

"I'm afraid we don't sell friends," Sam said coldly. He stepped towards you, put his arm around your shoulders and pulled you towards the aisle. Dean turned to leave as well. 

"One night," Crowley added, "in exchange for a cup that can heal any illness or injury. I think that is not too much to ask."

Damn. Owning that cup you could go hunting with far less worries. And that night… But you didn't want Sam and Dean to know… If only he had offered that deal to you when you were alone. But you guessed embarrassing you was part of his fun.

Hesitation flickered briefly across Dean's face. "The answer is no," he replied aggressively, masking his uncertainty.

"Dean," you said, not moving, "shouldn't we talk about this-"

"There will be no talking!" Dean cut you off.

"It's really my call, isn't it," you said quietly, looking at Crowley, who was watching the exchange in amusement.

Sam snorted. "Look, y/n, I don't think you realize what he intends to do to you…" 

Crowley was hiding his grin behind his free hand, ostensibly stroking his beard. You walked towards him and extended your hand towards the cup. 

"I think I can handle it, whatever it is. You promise to bring me back unharmed?" you asked Crowley.

He regarded you coolly and did not yield the cup. "Fully restored, at the very least. The cup will be handed over afterwards."

"This is not happening," Dean bellowed. 

Sam looked worried. "Maybe we should talk about this at home first," he suggested a compromise. 

"The offer stands now," Crowley cut in. "Go and forfeit the cup."

"Then we forfeit," Sam hastened to say, "Y/n, don't, please."

You were still positioned between Crowley and the boys. On your left lay an uncertain fate that promised excitement and a healing cup, on your right the Winchester's respect for you and their peace of mind. They didn't know you weren't a self-sacrificing hero that dreaded Crowley's plans. When you had finally decided what to do, you knew there had never really been a choice.

"I accept," you said and quickly walked towards Crowley, so the boys couldn't hold you back. "But I want an official deal."

Crowley looked surprised. Sam and Dean had folded their arms and were watching you in irritation. You shrugged. "We really need the cup. It's not that I don't trust you, but…"

"But you don't trust me," Crowley finished, vanished the cup and summoned a piece of parchment. "Well, if you insist…"

You checked the contract and signed it with a pen Crowley provided. The deal was almost finished. Before you could convince Sam and Dean to go, Crowley put his arm around your middle and pulled you against him. 

"Admit it, you just want the kiss," he mocked before bending you backwards and kissing you deeply. 

This was it. The thing you had been dreading. The Winchesters watching you in disgust as you let Crowley do whatever he chose to do to you. When the bastard took the time to explore your mouth with his tongue, you heard noises from the boys, presumably Sam trying to prevent Dean from killing Crowley on the spot.

When he pulled you upright again and broke the kiss, you concentrated on standing straight and avoided Sam and Dean's eyes. 

"We'll get you for this, mark my words," Dean threatened, but Sam held him back.

Crowley had a self-satisfied smirk on his face. He loved antagonizing the Winchesters and Dean fell for it every freaking time.

You folded your arms, looked at Sam and covertly signed, _I'm good, really_.

Sam nodded and stroked over his chin, let his hand fall to his side and twiddled his fingers. _Good luck_ , you read.

You nodded gratefully to him and said aloud, "See you tomorrow."

Crowley took your hand and you were whisked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! There is no real plan here, I add chapters as the inspiration strikes me :)  
> Also, I'm sorry for any errors you find - I'm not a native speaker and know my English is neither perfect  
> nor am I used to American English.  
> If you're willing to beta, get in touch, I'd be thrilled!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This gets filthier as time progresses, I don't take responsibility anymore ;) Also, there's a little violence in this chapter, so if that squicks you, please skip!

Crowley took you to the same room you had been in before. With a snap of his fingers, the cassock was gone and he was clad in his usual attire. He silently summoned leather cuffs, slid them onto your wrists and fastened them to chains that dangled from the ceiling. His brow was furrowed and you could tell he was pissed off. When he tugged on the metal, your hands were pulled up until you had to stand on your toes to prevent dislocating a shoulder.

He stood in front of you, extended a finger and trailed it down your neck to the first button of your blouse. Gripping the fabric with both hands, he ripped it all the way open. The buttons scattered on the floor around you. 

"So… you thought it would be a good idea to try and trick the King of Hell…" he mused and your heart sank. You wondered whether agreeing to this pact had been a good idea. 

He took a dagger out of his pocket, reached up, slid it into the cuff of your blouse, tore the whole sleeve open and repeated the motion on the other arm. When he was satisfied, he ripped the remaining rags of your blouse completely off your shoulders. Crowley let the cool blade of the dagger slide across your naked back without breaking your skin, just reminding you who was calling the shots. You closed your eyes as a shiver ran down your spine.

"Did you think I didn't know from the beginning what you were after?" 

He threw the dagger onto a table and stepped up to your front. His hands came around you to open the button in the back of your skirt. His face was inches from you, eyes boring into yours. You'd like to say you refused to answer, but in truth you were so scared, your mind was blank.

"Did you think I didn't see through your little display at the sanctuary?"

Crowley slid your skirt down with a little more touching than was strictly necessary. Bending one knee, he slid off your shoes, then gave your pantyhose the same treatment as he had given your blouse.

"Trying to distract me from that blasted cup..."

By now you were in your bra and panties and hoped sincerely that you could either keep them on or that the atmosphere would turn a bit friendlier than it was now.

"And how imaginative to invent a confession like that," Crowley drawled. That snapped you out of your stupor. 

"I didn't invent anything," you muttered. 

He let your bra strap snap sharply against your shoulder. "What was that?"

"I said, I didn't invent anything!" you repeated, annoyed that he doubted what had not been an easy confession. 

He looked at you doubtfully and opened your bra. You knew what was coming and closed your eyes while he cut the straps with the dagger. Last, he slipped your panties off you, dragging his thumbs across your most sensitive parts. 

When he was finished, he snapped his fingers and a comfortable chair slid in front of you. He sat. 

"Anaïs," he shouted. 

You felt all the blood in your body rush to your face when you realized someone was entering the room. A demon in a pretty brunette meatsuit, a cute little dress and impossibly high heels appeared from behind you.

"My King," she greeted and bowed to him, ignoring you. 

"Come here, darling," Crowley invited her and patted his thigh.

Anaïs sat gingerly on his thigh. He pulled her fully into his lap and ran his hands along the hemline of her dress. 

"You know you're my favorite, don't you," he asked, leering at her and nudging her pretty little nose. Her dark locks bounced prettily around her face. You hated her.

You took back all you had thought before about being humiliated in front of the Winchesters. This was by far more humiliating. Crowley flirting with a soulless bitch right in front of you while you were hanging naked in his bedroom was the epitome of shame. You fought back the tears that were threatening to spill while he continued to ignore you, whispered in Anaïs' ear and she giggled.

"Never, your Majesty," she said, laughing and he continued to whisper.

After a few minutes that felt like hours to you, she got up, brought him a drink and sat down again. Damn. Why had he asked for you if he was going to spend his time fooling around with his lackeys, anyway? When he started kissing her neck, you looked away. This was going to teach you to ignore your common sense. Damn the bastard and damn the boys for letting you go. 

"Sure, the black snake," the demon said, slid off Crowley's lap and left the room. He regarded you coolly, his face not giving any indication of what he was thinking.

A few seconds later, Anaïs stalked back in and handed him something. He smiled at her, thanked her – a little too warmly, for your taste – then sent her off again with a slap on her butt.

Crowley let the item unroll in his hands and you realized it was some kind of whip. Standing up, he let it crack and you twitched involuntarily at the sound. Again, you regretted everything you had been thinking. You preferred the silent treatment to whatever was coming now. 

"You've been a bad girl, kitten," Crowley said, waving the whip playfully in front of you. "You knew better than to mess with me. Perhaps you need a more direct approach for the message to _sink in_ …"

He narrowed his eyes at you. "Nothing to say for yourself?"

You jerked your head no. You were terrified of the whip and cross about his intermezzo with Anaïs.

"You will talk," he declared. "When you've counted to ten, I will stop."

Ha. That was was _he_ thought. He let his hand run across your ass, then stepped back. 

"Brace yourself, this might sting a bit."

You heard the whip fly through the air again and didn't realize it had hit you until after the shock of the impact had worn off and the pain blazed hotly across your butt cheeks. Your mind went blank.

"Fuck!" you exclaimed, tripping and almost twisting your ankle. It hurt so much, you thought your skin must have split open. How were you going to take nine more?

You heard Crowley chuckle behind you. "Try again, kitten."

Shit, you were supposed to count. You tried to catch your breath and speak, but the whip hit again before you were ready. 

_Crack._

"One," you shouted, desperate to keep count this time. Your ass burned like hell – literally – and your legs barely supported you. 

_Crack._

"T-two," you stuttered, muscles tensing up to prepare for the next lash.

It didn't come. 

"This hurts me more than it hurts you, you know," Crowley commented sardonically behind you.

You snorted. Yeah, right. 

_Crack._

"Fuck.. THREE!" you counted, cursing the day you had met the demon. He seemed to be aiming exactly at the spot between thigh and buttocks, where you were most sensitive. 

_Crack._

"Four," you coughed out and felt tears well up in your eyes, not for the first time this evening. You tried to see if there was any blood running down your legs, but were quickly distracted again.

_Crack._

"Five." Your voice came out throaty from the tears that were threatening to roll down your cheeks. You were glad he was standing behind you and didn't see. 

_Crack._

"Six." 

_Crack._

"Aaaah, seven," you managed. Your ass was on fire, every lash hurt so much that after each one you forgot for a second you were supposed to count. Between the lashes, your skin burned all around your ass and down to your cunt.

_Crack._

"Eight, shit,…" Only two more to go. You could do this. You had no choice but to endure it. _Just don't forget counting,_ you told yourself. Nine. 

_Crack._ The impact felt different and even worse than before. Crowley must have changed something in his blow.

"NINE, nine!"

_Crack._

"Ten." The tears were running freely by now. You didn't relax – Crowley might have been lying when he had said it was only ten blows.

But then you heard him set the whip on a table and step up to you. Lightly, he trailed his hand across your back, down to your ass. You jumped in pain when he touched the welts he had inflicted upon you. 

"Well done," he murmured in your ear, "Such a good little kitten…"

He pulled down the chains and released you from one shackle, then the other. When you stumbled, he caught you in his arms, picked you up and carried you to the bed. Gently, he laid you down and handed you a handkerchief.

He took off his jacket, laid down next to you and pulled you close. You were not stupid, you knew he was the one who had hurt you, but at the same time, his soothing voice murmuring nonsense to you ("Good girl, you've been a brave little hunter,…") and his gentle touch calmed you. 

"I hope that's not your idea of mercy," you choked out and were rewarded by a deep laugh. 

"Actually, it is," he said, stroking your arms. "Don't make me mad again, if you don't want to find out how a real punishment in hell feels."

He handed you a glass of water. 

"I thought you were okay with sins down here," you said and drank. 

"That depends on how much enjoyment we're deriving from it," he replied and pinched your ass lightly. It hurt like a bitch. Turning a little, you tried to see if there was any blood on your backside and didn't find any. When you lay back down, you hissed in pain. 

Crowley's roaming hands strayed to your breasts, caressing you. Despite the pain in your ass, you felt your nipples harden in answer to his ministrations. He stroked lower, over your belly, your waist, past your groin down to your thigh, until you wanted to grab his hand and pull it to where you wanted it. 

You shifted to give him better access and noticed a considerable length poking into your thigh. 

"You still have a little penance to do," Crowley said suggestively. You froze for a moment, then realized he probably didn't mean further lashes. You looked up at him.

"What would you have me do, my king?"

"I'm sure you'll think of something," he replied dryly and opened his trousers.

You sat up, swept your hair into a ponytail and hesitantly got started on your task. You kneeled in front of him, careful to not sit on the sore spots and took his silky smooth length in your hands. It was so large, you needed both to cover it. A little intimidated, you swiped your tongue across it, tasting the tangy fluid that had already gathered at the tip. Crowley watched you through his lashes as you slid your mouth over his cock and tested how deep you could take him without choking – judging from his groans, it was far enough. 

Alternating between sucking and moving your tongue around his cock, you listened to the sounds of his breath hitching, his groans and the small twitches he gave, to find out what he liked. After a while, he gripped your hair and pulled to set you into a rhythm. You forced yourself to relax while he fucked your throat. His orgasm was unexpected and you choked a little when his come hit the back of your throat.

Crowley sighed contentedly, then pulled you up for a languid kiss. 

"Almost redeemed," he commented with a sly grin. He stood, changed into a dressing gown and prepared two drinks. While it seemed he was drinking whiskey, as usual, you found the glass he handed you to be full of the same gin drink he had ordered for you in the bar last time. You washed the strange feeling and tangy taste of his semen down with your gin and leaned back against your unlikely host/kidnapper, who had returned to sit next to you.

You hoped your own release was somewhere on his plan for tonight, at least after he decided you had paid your dues. 

"Tell me about your life with Moose and Squirrel, kitten," he said. "It it all you thought it would be? Heroes in plaid and all that?"

You smiled. "You consider them heroes?"

Pain flared in your butt when he punished you with another pinch.

"Ow! They are. I just try to help and survive. Some days we get the monsters and everything works out fine, some days it's a close call. But that's part of the thrill, I guess. They take care of me as well as they can."

His hand had returned to stroking your side. You ventured a look at him.

"Why are you interested in me?"

You didn't expect a straight answer – who could say why they were attracted to someone else? You were an idiot who was overthinking everything and as such, could probably write an essay on your interest in Crowley. Men often weren't so reflected. But you had wondered. If it was beauty he was after, there were lots of demons in his ranks who wore better looking meatsuits than you – including Anaïs. He could have more powerful women through his deals. The one thing he could only do with you was annoy the Winchesters and he hadn't done that before today.

The hand trailed downwards, sliding through your pubes, softly trailing along your labia.

"Imagine a hand knit garment, lying somewhere unattended. A single thread is hanging from it and you can see that pulling on it would make it unravel. You know it would be sinful to ruin something so carefully crafted and yet you are tempted to tug until it's taken to pieces.

"You're trying so hard to stay virtuous and composed," he whispered in your ear. He slid his fingers between your folds, where heat already blossomed, and pressed down.

"And I like making you come undone."

Electricity sparked from his fingers and you screamed.

*

You screamed a good deal more when he arranged you on the bed on your hands and knees and took you. It wasn't the penetration that hurt but his hips, driving into the welts on your ass with every hard thrust. You had no doubts he had chosen this position on purpose, to make you suffer a little longer. After a while, your legs were shaking and you were pleading with him to let you come. 

He was merciful then, pulling you up against him, then sliding his hand around your neck while he continued to fuck you. He had listened carefully to your confession, it seemed. His rough beard slid against your neck, where your skin already burned, and you were overwhelmed by the smell of him and sweat and sex. Your breath turned shallower with the tightening of his fingers and you heard your blood rushing in your ears. When he slipped his fingers between your legs once more and made the current zap against your clit, you came, shaking. The tension of the last hours dissipated and you let yourself fall into the feeling.

*

There was time for afterglow and little more talk about your respective lives. Crowley offered to show you around his realm, but you took a rain check – after the Anaïs intermezzo, you weren't ready to meet any demons who might have heard about your punishment.

In compensation for your torn clothes, Crowley procured a light blue summer dress for you – you didn't find out wherever from – and zapped you to a little café just outside of Paris for breakfast. It seemed he remembered you got hungry fast and wanted to impress you with his cosmopolitan ways. He succeeded. The sun shone beautifully onto the patio of the café and you had a beautiful view of a little village with an ancient church.

A young waiter arrived and verbosely greeted you. You didn't understand a word of it, but he seemed to be in a good mood.

"Un expresso et un pain au chocolat pour moi, s'il vous plait," Crowley ordered and looked expectantly at you. You had never learned French and couldn't even decipher the menu. You looked at the bar where cakes and pastries were displayed in a glass cabinet. 

"Et pour votre fille, monsieur?"* the waiter asked, turning to Crowley, when it became obvious that he wouldn't get an order from you.

"I'd like coffee and a croissant, please," you prompted. 

"Un café au lait et deux croissants pour ma fille," he replied with an amused smile. The waiter nodded and left.

After you had finished your pastries, Crowley slipped his hand into his jacket and took out a fragile silver chain with a little dark red bead attached to it. He took your left hand and wrapped the chain around your arm. On its own, the chain tightened until it was snug around your wrist. The red stone shone beautifully in the sunlight. 

"A little protection," Crowley mentioned, trying for an inconspicuous tone, then kissed your hand. You ran your finger along the bead. It looked different from all the jewels you had ever seen before. You vowed to research it as soon as you had the time. 

"It's beautiful…" You tugged a little on the chain, but it didn't move. "How does it come off?"

Crowley watched you with a calculating gaze. "It doesn't. Unless I take it off."

That was… kind of hot. You thanked Crowley with a brief kiss on his lips. The approaching waiter turned around with a scandalized look on his face and fled back to the kitchens. 

After breakfast, Crowley zapped you back to your room in the bunker – well within the agreed time limit, with the Nanteos cup, your new bracelet and the summer dress, minus the clothes you had worn the day before. All in all, it had been a good deal, you thought. 

The door to the corridor was open, but you didn't hear anybody outside. 

"One of these days you'll have to admit to what you want and ask for it, kitten," Crowley said conversationally. "I like the blushing maiden act as much as the next man, but I won't barter for you forever."

You pouted. You knew you wanted to have the cake and eat it, too. Damn the demon for pointing it out. He turned your chin up towards him and looked at you before he kissed you softly.

"Goodbye, kitten." 

"Goodbye," you said, but he was already gone.

 

\-----------------------------------------

* "And for your daughter, Sir?"


	5. Chapter 5

When you silently crept out of your room, no Winchester was in sight. Relieved, you set the Nanteos cup onto the table and scribbled down a quick note ( _I'm home, alright, going to sleep now_ ).

After a short "night", you woke to hear Sam and Dean rummaging and talking outside your room. Still half-asleep, you stretched in your comfortable bed and realized you were feeling more relaxed than you had been in a long time. Your body ached in a peculiar way that pleasantly reminded you of your nightly activities, but didn't really hurt. You turned on a light and looked at the bracelet, smiling. While you had the bad feeling that this could be a cute little Trojan horse, the delivery had been kind of sweet.

At the moment, it bothered you far more that you were nowhere nearer an epiphany of what to tell the boys of your relationship with Crowley. 

After a few more minutes of listening to the familiar sounds of the busy bustle outside, you got up. You wouldn't solve the problem by lying in your bed forever. You washed your face, threw on jeans and a shirt and faced the world.

The world consisted of two young men and an ex-angel, congregated around the long wooden table in the war room, drinking coffee. 

"Hey there," Sam called cautiously when he saw you turn the corner. "How are you?"

Dean and Castiel looked up and greeted you as well.

"Hey guys," you replied, "What's up?"

Sam stood and pulled out a chair for you, while the other two were staring at you in concern. Apparently they were a little freaked out – never before had they tried to be chivalrous to you. You felt a pang of your conscience. They must have been worried sick. You let yourself fall into the chair, mindless of your welts, and winced. Damn, idiot move. Sam and Dean shared an apprehensive glance. 

"Nothing much here," Dean replied gruffly. "Do we kill Crowley?"

You shook your head and wondered how to put their minds at ease without exposing yourself too much. You couldn't let them think you had suffered under Crowley's ministrations. 

"I'm fine," you insisted. "I said I could handle him."

"That's what Cas said about his phone and have you listened to his mailbox recently?" Dean tried to handle the situation with humor, but nobody was in the mood to laugh.

"There's no need for you to play the heroine," Cas cut off the banter and looked at you with a serious expression. "I can smell various demon-"

"BREAKFAST!" you announced loudly, cheeks reddening, and jumped up. Sam walked along to the kitchen with you while Dean and Castiel stayed – probably to get Cas another upgrade on his people skills.

"What would you like to eat?" Sam asked carefully. 

"Anything's fine," you assured him and poured yourself some coffee.

He busied himself with the breakfast, cracking eggs into a pan, then furiously chopping vegetables.

You leaned onto the counter and stilled his hand. 

"I really am okay. Please stop freaking out, Sam."

He looked at you and slammed his fist onto the counter. You jumped at the sudden force. 

"You shouldn't have said yes!" he said in a low voice. "We always stick together and we always pull through!"

"You're still operating under the assumption that I didn't know what was going to happen. And that I didn't want to go." You took a deep breath. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. "It wasn't exactly the first time I went with him."

Sam's eyebrows climbed Mount Everest. You could almost hear the gears turning in his brain.

"What – when… the bar?"

"The bar," you confirmed. When it looked as if he would start the Spanish Inquisition on you, you hurried to explain.

"He's an attractive guy, and he's funny and charming, if he wants to be." 

"Are you serious? Did he put some kind of spell on you?" Sam asked, forgetting about the food and reaching for your head to check your temperature. He was probably checking for brain inflammation and damn right to do so.

"Nope."

"He is a demon," Sam argued. "How could you ever trust him enough-"

"Yeah, thank God _you_ never trusted a demon, right?" you cut in.

Sam shut up, put his bitchface on and went on chopping. You knew that had been a low blow, but it was true. He knew exactly what attracted you to the demon. Fuck, he had drunk her blood. Your little affair seemed tame in comparison.

"That's different," he said shortly.

"Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, but you can trust me on this. I don't have a death wish."

Sam chopped. 

"You keep him tied into our wards, so you must trust him a little," you said.

"I trust us. We can defend ourselves." More chopping. There were going to be enough chopped vegetables to feed a small country.

"He hurt you," Sam commented with disapproval, throwing a glance at your butt, then your neck.

"Yeah, he did." You fought to keep a smile off your face and lost. Sam rolled his eyes.

"He's still a bastard, I know that and I like it. I wouldn't bet my life on him if we had another apocalypse, but he has nothing to gain from killing me now."

Sam sighed, turned up the heat on the stove and pushed the vegetables into the pan. 

"Dean worries me though," you said. "He'll either think that I've suffered terribly or that I'm crazy."

"But you are," Sam teased and you stuck out your tongue at him. You relaxed. Teasing was a good sign. Maybe you hadn't lost all his respect. Sam would talk to Dean and reassure him. Castiel would model himself on Dean and hopefully everyone would cheer up.

*

Whatever Sam said to Dean worked. Dean never asked you about that night again. In fact, he seemed to be in denial about you having a sexuality at all. Castiel refrained from talking about demon juices, although he did repeatedly eye you and your bracelet in suspicion.

Over the following days, you were reluctant to mention the bracelet to Sam and Dean and risk disturbing the shaky peace. You did discover though, that when you played with it and rubbed the stone, it flared red. 

One evening, you retired early to have time for yourself. You read a few pages, then your mind slipped back to the night you had spent with Crowley. Book quickly forgotten, you laid on your back and slipped your fingers into your panties, gently rubbing abound that little nub, teasing. You hoped that another opportunity to meet Crowley would present itself. The bracelet didn't seem like a parting gift, but Crowley had said you needed to ask for what you wanted. What it was, you knew. You wanted to leave your responsibility for your life in the bunker and have him take control of you again. You didn't want to wait for it as long as he had made you last time, but you wanted him to fuck you again. You rubbed more insistently now, biting your lower lip in pleasure. Your heartbeat was quickening and your skin heating up. Remembering the feeling of having his strong arms around you, tight and secure, while he pounded into you mercilessly was turning you on so much, you came fast and hard, clenching your thighs around you hand. After taking a few breaths, you rubbed again, more softly, until you came a second time. A rustle made you open your eyes and scan the room, but everything was as it had been. Stacks of books were lying unperturbed on the nightstand, a barely used desk and a chair, usually used for your discarded clothes, stood in front of the bed.

Before you closed your eyes again, you saw a flash of red. The bracelet was flaring in time with your pulse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, we had to reassure the boys a little. There will be more disquieting them in cooperation with our loveliest demon soon!


	6. Chapter 6

In hindsight, it had been a stupid plan. You shouldn't have come to steal from a wealthy man's house in the middle of the night, whether he had an inventory of biblical weapons that put the Vatican to shame or not. The smart thing would have been to send him an invitation to an important event, not lure him out into the garden at night by tipping over his trash bins, as Dean had done. Richardson had not been as worried about his trash as you had hoped and while Sam had gone to the basement and taken the exit from there, there hadn't been an easy out from the route towards the safe in the drawing room upstairs. Your story about being followed by two men and looking for a safe place for the night hadn't impressed Richardson much and his gun hadn't invited heroics from you either. 

Now you were sitting in a cell at the local police station, willing the boys to leave you there for a bit and not risk anything by turning up and trying to break you out. You hadn't hurt anyone, hadn't taken anything and you knew you looked harmless. The cops had been civil, considering the circumstances. Without a previous conviction, you wouldn't be detained for longer than a few days. 

The clearly intoxicated detainee in the cell opposite yours coughed and stared at you. He looked as if he hadn't seen the inside of a bathroom or really, any room with a mirror, for the best time of a month. When you had arrived he had been mumbling to himself and tearing bits off his torn sneakers. His pupils were dilated and he didn't seem to realize his staring was rude. The thought of staying in this cell for several days made your heart beat faster, but you quickly shut down the feeling. The Winchesters had endured much more than that. 

After a few hours already, a young policeman came, opened your cell, put handcuffs on you and beckoned you out. You followed, bemused and careful. What the heck had happened now?

"Your lawyer is here," the policeman indicated one of the interrogation rooms. Four guesses who. Well, three really, they probably wouldn't send Cas here alone and expect him to blend in.

"Hello, kitten."

Your stomach did a funny somersault thing in your belly. You entered the interrogation room and took a seat at the table, opposite Crowley. 

"My lawyer," you greeted him, trying not to give away how excited you were to see him. 

"You seem to have taken to the chains," he smirked at your cuffed hands in front of you. You glared at him. 

"Now, what did you do to get yourself into this mess?" he asked, leaning back and studying you. 

"It's a long story, actually," you said, thinking about how to keep the weapons secret. You didn't want hell to have those, hot leader or not. If Richardson really had Ehud's Dagger or the Seal of Solomon, a great many people and beings would be interested in them.

The hot leader raised an eyebrow at you. You sighed. 

"Broke into a house to steal lots of money to fuel the fight for the good side."

"Apparently not that long of a story," he remarked, unimpressed. "And the real reason?"

You rolled your eyes. Well, as they said, if at first you don't succeed...

"Broke into a house to steal ingredients for some protection ritual Sam wants us to have."

You willed yourself to believe that story and imagined spell ingredients in Richardson's safe. Maybe demons could read minds. Better to be safe. Crowley seemed to accept that story.

"How did you find me?" you asked. "And what are you planning?"

"I… know things," he replied, but his eyes flickered for a second to your bracelet. Ha, you knew it. It probably had a tracking device built in.

"As to what I'm planning, that's up to you." 

Crowley leaned forwards. "What do you want and what can you offer me in return?"

You thought about this. Leaving here was easy. You would be free in the long run, no matter if he interfered or not. What would help was erasing the traces of your offense from the police system and confounding them so they wouldn't remember you. But you didn't have anything to offer him.

"What do you want that you couldn't just take?" you asked, pushing a strand of hair back behind your ear and jingling the cuffs in the process. 

"Anything I don't want to be killed for by Squirrel, Moose or Feathers. Also, generally speaking, a bottle of chateau margaux 1787, cleverer lackeys, Disney world to open for me alone, to be a natural blond, et cetera, et cetera," Crowley listed dryly.

"I'm joking. Only on the hair, though, it's lovely as it is. Oh, and above all, I'd like a little warmer greeting when I'm coming to your rescue," he grumbled. "I might not be tempted to do so again."

You cracked a smile. Realizing that you didn't actually need to uphold the image of lawyer and client, you walked over to his side of the table and glided into his lap. The King of Hell was still pouting a little, but he shifted to make room for you. You suppressed a giggle at his expression. It seemed he was more interested in getting you out of a tight spot and less in what he could ask in return. It was cute.

"I'm sorry," you said and smiled at him. "Is this warm enough?"

"Not nearly. From the way you were looking at me, you'd think I weren't the dashing hero you expected," he murmured.

"Forgive me," you said and ran your hands through the stubble on his cheeks, then kissed him. 

It seemed he did. In fact, he forgave you so thoroughly, that the policeman who passed the door shortly afterwards did a double-take through the window and decided that the meeting had gone on long enough. Crowley erased the records for you and magicked the policemen asleep. After you had sent a text to Dean, informing him that you were safe, Crowley zapped you away. 

*

He didn't take you back to the Winchesters, but to hell's entrance. Other demons were bustling around and you walked quickly to keep up with the King. You didn't want to meet anyone else on your own there. They were all respectful when the two of you passed them, bowing their heads a little and nodding at their king. A few demons eyed you in obvious interest and whispered when you passed. You could make out little, but the name Winchester fell a few times. 

"Time for audiences," Crowley informed you curtly and led you to a large room with a throne at the end. More demons, about a hundred of them, were gathered here. 

Crowley parted the masses and you followed a few steps behind, hearing the whispering again. _Winchester bitch,_ someone whispered. _Gone soft_ , a demon in the meat suit of a pretty blond with a stud in his left ear mumbled, _He's losing his touch_. A few others laughed at that.

"Well?" Crowley snapped impatiently, having arrived at his throne. "Can't you see that we're going to need another chair?"

Several of his minions hurried to find a chair for you to sit in. Crowley sat in his throne. You stepped close to him.

"The blond with the stud is badmouthing you," you whispered in his ear. Your chair was brought and you sat, waiting for Crowley' to begin. He smiled at you and started with a fire, literally. The blond demon went up in flames, as did two of the guys he had been talking with. After that, during the audiences, there were no more comments about "going soft", but several demons eyed you, sitting next to their king, in distrust. He had been working with Team Free Will a few times lately and now he was entertaining a member during an audience. You could see how that would look like he had changed camp. You noticed the demons whispering again and felt a little anxiety at the display. Crowley needed to demonstrate that he was still the one in control here. Before you had worked out how to get that across to him, he was terminating the assembly.

"Don't think I haven't realized that some of you take offense at the guests I'm entertaining," he said and the room fell silent. "I hope I don't need to remind you who is ruling over hell and deciding all your fates. _Obey your leaders and submit to them, for they are keeping watch over your souls_. Whom I command to serve me in which way is not up for discussion. Believe it or find out for yourself."

He looked pointedly at the pile of ashes. A few of the demons still looked skeptical, but nobody was laughing or whispering anymore. 

"Out," he commanded and they left quickly, motivated by the pile indicating the consequences of insubordination. 

The two of you were left in the big hall. Crowley stayed on his throne, deep in thought. You left your seat and sat at his feet, resting your head on his knees. His hand went to your head, playing with your hair. 

"What are you thinking about?" you asked, leaning into his touch. 

He sighed. "How to bring some order to this shower… I suppose burning Sebastian was a good start, although I rather liked his meat suit. He was… limber."

He tugged on a strand of your hair. 

"Ruling is harder work than everybody imagines. It's like having little terrorist children who don't love you at all."

You smiled. Who would have thought that one day you'd sit in hell, listening to the King complaining about his regency and strategizing how to strengthen it? It was absurd, but you felt right at home. Thinking about what to do, now that the audiences were over, you realized you didn't want to go home yet. As Crowley didn't seem to have a plan for you, maybe the time had come for you to ask for what you wanted, as he had announced last time. 

"May I make a suggestion?"

He watched you expectantly and, with a wave of his hand, bid you to continue. 

"Doctors say, in times of stressful work experiences physical exertion calms the mind and reduces stress," you said and batted your eyelashes at him.

He raised his eyebrows at you in pleased surprise.

"We're taking health promotion very seriously down here," he answered, smirking.

You stood, toed off your shoes and climbed into his lap. 

"I might help you with that," you said, moving your hips lightly over his in a little circle. He gripped your waist tightly and pressed you down. You could feel he was interested already. 

"And how do you, as an expert, advise me to… exert myself?" he asked in a low voice. 

"I'd start with slow movements, not to strain yourself" you demonstrated them, sliding your hand onto Crowley's shoulders for balance. 

"Maybe try to get some oral feedback on your posture…" 

You tried to swipe your lips lightly against his and pull back, but he held you in place and pressed his lips fiercely against yours. Pulling you even closer against him, he licked at your lips and demanded entrance. When you gave in and opened up for him, he slid his tongue into your mouth, searching for yours. He kissed you deeply and hungrily while keeping you moving on his lap. 

When you broke the kiss to gasp for breath, he watched you, desire burning in his eyes. 

"What does the health officer have to say about restrictive clothing?" he asked hoarsely. 

"Has to go if the corporate SOPs on privacy are followed," you countered. 

"Ah, I'm afraid I've misplaced those," he said lightly and snapped his fingers. Your jeans vanished and you were left in your shirt and panties. His hand wandered down between your legs and rubbed lightly over the lace. 

"But-" you gasped when he brushed _that_ spot, "what if someone comes in?"

"They'll see you riding the King on his throne and quietly let themselves out again."

His voice suggested this was the end of the discussion. He nudged you to rise a little and opened his pants. Your heart hammered in your chest. It had been fine to give up control in the confines of his rooms, but here, where there wasn't even a locked door to separate you from a hundred demons? You felt your face flush. Although, while your head was busy worrying, you had to admit you weren't any less wet for Crowley, maybe even more so with the excitement of a possible discovery.

Crowley had freed his cock from his trousers and was sliding your panties to the side, watching your flushed face in amusement. He moved your hips to hover directly above him and rubbed the head of his cock against your pussy without breaching you. 

You bit your lip and waited for him to continue.

"Let me see your eyes," you requested. 

It took Crowley a moment to understand what you wanted, but then he grinned, exposing his teeth. He flashed his eyes red and, at the same time, pulled you down onto his cock. You groaned when you felt yourself stretch around him; it burned, but in a satisfying way.

Gripping the arm rests, you lifted yourself a little and sank down again. The King had leaned back and, eyes still burning red, enjoyed while watching you. You sped up, taking him in deep, but quickly grew frustrated when the leverage wasn't enough to get a fast rhythm going. 

"Please, I need…" you trailed off. Crowley chuckled and lifted you easily, turning you around so you had your back to him. He vanished the rest of your clothes and hooked your legs over the armrests of the throne, spreading them wide. Positioned like that, you had full view of the whole room. Vice versa, to anybody entering you would be perfectly exposed. _Fuck._

Crowley slid into you again, fucking you in a slow rhythm, trailing kisses along your now exposed back. He licked and sucked a path up your neck until you were sure your skin would be covered in bruises. When he picked up the pace of his thrusts, his nibbling turned into soft bites and, later, harder ones that were sure to leave marks. The pain from his bites shot sparks straight down to your pussy. You let your head fall back onto his strong shoulder and relaxed into the feeling.

Crowley's hands sneaked around you, sliding over your nipples and caressing your breasts. He extended his hand and made sure you noticed him making it spark in electricity. You bit your lip, knowing what was coming. The feeling of the current against your sensitive flesh caused your brain to shut down and you whimpered as you felt your orgasm wash over you and your muscles clench around Crowley's cock. 

He stilled then for a moment, letting you catch your breath, before pulling your legs down and starting to rock slowly into you again. 

He made you come two times more before he was satisfied, bent you over the armrest and slammed into you until he spent himself inside you.

Afterwards, he zapped you into his now familiar chambers. Your "health training" seemed to have relaxed him as intended. And now that you were safe behind the doors of his private rooms, you could unwind as well. Crowley procured a sweet, alcoholic drink he introduced as "port" and bitter chocolate that seemed to be handmade. Together, you lounged on the bed. Crowley ate from your fingers and, with a filthy look on his face, licked them clean afterwards. That inspired.. things. Although, not for today. You sighed contentedly.

"No more, today, please…" you said with a smile. "I'm sore... and dripping."

He dipped a hand between your legs and painted little come-circles on your naked thigh, then vanished the wetness with a wave of his hand.

"Thank you for saving me," you said again, this time with a little more feeling than hours before at the police station. 

"You're most welcome, kitten."

You looked up at the smiling demon who was lying on his side, head propped up with his hand.

"It's dangerous out there,"" you said innocently. "I might stumble into distress more often and need saving..."

Crowley raised his eyebrows. "You're begging for a spanking, young lady."

You blushed. The thought of him putting you over his knee was not as unattractive as he might have thought. You filed it away for later thought.

More softly, he added, "You know how to reach me, kitten."

You smiled. 

"Likewise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're back on smut track! As always, your feedback is highly appreciated!


	7. Chapter 7

When Crowley returned you, you put on a high-necked jumper to hide the love bites on your neck, then left your room. The boys were relieved that you were returned home safely, although a bit suspicious at the unlikely rescue. They had been driving to the police station when your message had reached them and since returning seemed to have wandered the war room like caged animals. 

"How did Crowley know where you've been?" Sam wondered. "You didn't even have your phone on you."

Castiel's eyes flickered to the bracelet on your arm. You were reluctant to talk about it, but knew you shouldn't keep your mouth shut about it for longer – it would seem even more shady if you did, especially since Cas seemed to guess something. You held out your arm. 

"I guess this gift of his might have something to do with that."

Sam, Dean and Castiel gathered around you and looked at the bracelet. Dean's expression darkened.

"There must be a tracking device built in or a tracking spell on it," you speculated. 

Cas turned up his nose. "It smells dirty."

"What kind of stone is this?" you directed your question at Sam. He was most likely to recognize the gem from his research. 

"Let me see it close up." He held out his hand. You blushed. 

"It kind of doesn't come off."

Dean stood and kicked his chair back a few feet. 

"You're not telling us that you're stupid enough to let Crowley put a thing on you whose purpose you don't know and that _kind of_ doesn't come off again?"

Well, put like that it sounded stupid, yes. But you had felt okay about it at the time, Crowley's intentions had seemed good. Only, to say that aloud probably wouldn't appease Dean a lot. 

"Dean," Sam tried to calm him down with a soothing voice. Dean sat again, but wouldn't look at you. Castiel watched him in worry. 

"What do you mean, it _kind of_ doesn't come off, Y/n?" Sam asked.

You sighed. None of them would like the next part and you weren't inclined to explain yourself so they would get the idea. In a way, the bracelet was like a collar, only more compatible with public appearances. You _liked_ that he had marked you with it, that he was using it to find you and that it was in his power to say if and when it came off. Thinking about this power he had over you excited you. But to explain the want to belong and submit to two alpha males and the baby in the trench coat would be difficult, to say the least. 

You cleared your throat when they didn't stop looking at you. 

"It comes off when he takes it off," you said carefully, preparing for Dean's next outburst. It didn't come, but only because Dean stormed out of the war room in a huff. Judging by the sounds of the fridge and glass, he was taking out his anger on a couple of beer bottles. 

Breaking the awkward silence, Sam shuffled closer with his chair. He turned your arm so the gem reflected the light. 

"I don't think this is a jewel, actually," Sam wondered. "Have a look, Cas."

Cas seemed reluctant, but looked closer as well. 

"I don't like this. It gives off bad energy." Cas frowned. "Demonic vibes. I haven't seen anything like it before."

Sam turned it again and prodded it. 

"No idea. I'll hit the books later." 

You nodded and the three of you returned to your previous seats. Dean walked in with several bottles of beer and handed them out. He didn't let go of yours until he had caught your gaze. 

"Don't be an idiot and get yourself killed, kid," he said curtly. You recognized a peace offering when you saw one and decided to take it. You nodded and forced yourself not to roll your eyes at the address. 

"Crowley said it was for protection."

Dean threw his hands in the air. "And you just believed him, because he's such a trustworthy guy."

"Worked out all right this time, didn't it?" you said, trying to keep from snapping at him. "He had enough opportunity to hurt me in the past, if he had wanted to."

Sam looked between the two of you. "He didn't say _how_ it worked, did he?"

You shook your head. 

Dean grumbled on for a bit after that, but Sam declared he would go into research mode later and that was that. A kind of ceasefire followed. You were surprised and glad they didn't try to get you to make Crowley take the bracelet off. Quickly, you changed topic and outlined your capture, Crowley's rescue at the police station – leaving out the smoochy parts – and his fiery speech in hell. Sam and Dean cheered at your account of the demon burning after your snitching. You didn't tell them about what had followed and they didn't ask. You thought Sam suspected you, though, as you noticed his eyes linger on your neck more than once. 

*

The next days, you were all in full research mode. You had agreed to try to get at the artifacts in Richardson's house again, but with a better plan. Sam suggested to learn his habits and forge an attractive fake invitation to lure him out with. At the very best, you could get him an actual invitation to an event he would like to attend and have ample time to search his house.

The first few days' research yielded the information that Richardson was on several supervisory boards of large companies and that his bank account showed it. He didn't seem to have a family or close relatives and you didn't find any hobbies he might have. He liked to have his photograph taken at charity events, but never smiled on them. There was no information on why he would own biblical weapons or supernatural stuff of any kind.

It was your turn to cook lunch and so you retreated into the kitchen at noon to roast some chicken and prepare a salad to go with it. On impulse, you threw together a pie dough, filled it with sliced apples and put it in the oven. All food set to cook for itself, you returned to the research party. 

On the way there, you thought you heard the dulcet tones of your favorite demon. You were surprised that he showed up so soon again and a little hurt that he had obviously come to see the boys and not you. 

When you entered the war room, dusting flour off your hands, you found Sam and Dean with their arms crossed, eyeing Crowley with similar, distrustful expressions. 

"What I don't understand is why you're here to tell us," Sam argued. 

Crowley noticed you entering and turned to you with a smile.

"Hello, love."

Your heart beat faster. You would have liked to greet him warmly – and he was sure to complain again afterwards, if you didn't – but next to Sam and Dean, you just couldn't. 

"Hi Crowley," you shot him a little smile and sat down at the table where several long knives were laid out next to beautiful holsters made of dark leather.

"Looking beautiful as ever, kitten." 

Even though you knew he just loved to rile up the boys, you were a little flattered.

"Stop it, asshat," Dean commanded. "We were talking about a werewolf." 

"Now, squirrel, I know the quality of your manners is even more underwhelming than that of your liver cells, but there should always be time to greet a lady-"

"Shut it," Sam cut in. "Why do you want us to hunt the werewolf for you?"

Crowley put on his best "hurt"-face. He made big eyes and turned up his hands in surrender.

"Why, I only came here to bring information and gifts," he indicated the weapons, "and I'm honestly feeling so attacked right now."

When Sam and Dean just looked at him and even you didn't stop smiling, he dropped the act. 

"Alright, alright. I admit, maybe I was hoping for a little favor in return, whenever I need something in the future." 

Dean shot him a dirty look.

"You can forget that. We don't bargain with monsters."

"I'm not asking for anything right now, oh-righteous-one," Crowley said, irritated. "Take the gifts and the information or throw them away, I don't care. I've shown my goodwill. 

"Kitten," He stepped up to you, took your hand in his and dipped his head to it, not quite kissing it. "A pleasure as always."

His beard scratched lightly along your cheek when he bent to whisper in your ear, "I'd love to have you back in office, I've been terribly stressed out lately."

The smell of his cologne, smoke and a hint of sulfur reminded you of the last time you had been so close to him. You breathed in deeply and wished you could let him take you with him right now. 

"Apparently we've got a werewolf to kill," you whispered back instead. "Next time…"

*

All plans for Richardson forgotten, you changed your research topic. In a few minutes' work, Sam had pulled up the records of the werewolf's last victims. 

"So get this, Crowley's story checks out," he reported. "A bunch of college students from Denver have been missing since the last full moon."

Dean frowned. "Why haven't we seen anything about that in the papers?"

Sam quickly scanned the pages. "It was a group of friends that had been talking about going on holiday together. So everybody thought they had gone on the camping trip they had planned. Ew."

He scrolled past a very red picture. 

"When they didn't return for several weeks the authorities broke open their dorm rooms and realized they had been lying there without their hearts and several other limbs."

"So it had to be another college student or someone who would not stand out in that crowd," you pondered. "Or if they did stand out, we'll probably hear about them."

Dean checked his mobile phone. "It's a full moon tonight. If we go now, we can be at the college by four o'clock and start to investigate."

You stood. "I'll pack the chicken and the pie." 

The boys gave you the thumbs up and you went to pack your stuff and the food. 

"What's with the knives?" you asked Sam when you were back with everything you needed for the trip. 

You took one of the knives in hand and felt the grip and its weight. It felt good. It was a little shorter than an angel blade, but had a broader blade and beautiful ornamental carvings on the hilt. 

"Crowley brought them as gifts, to slay the werewolf," Sam explained. "But we have silver bullets, so they'll be the back up plan at the most."

You set the knife down again and felt a little disappointment at the loss of contact. When you took it back in hand, you noticed it hummed very softly, nearly imperceptibly. It felt as if the blade were animate in some way and wanted to stay in your hand. Maybe the carvings weren't only ornamental. Apart from the humming, though, you didn't discover any features other knives didn't have. 

You slid the leather holster on and put the knife in. It lay against your back, hilt up, hidden by your jacket but easily within reach.

Within a few minutes, all three of you had packed your gear, weapons and fake FBI badges included, and sat in baby on the I-70 to Denver, Colorado. Sam and Dean took turns driving while you supplied them with food, drinks and information on the case.

When you had arrived, you split up in two parties to investigate. Sam took the local police, Dean and you started on the college dorms. You appeared as "Kate's friend" in the girl dorms and "Steven's friend" in the boy dorms, in your regular clothes, and collected the gossip. Dean, old as he was, had no choice but to do the FBI routine. 

When Sam, Dean and you met up again in late evening, you agreed on the list of suspects. It contained all of one small, wimpy guy called Chris that had been seen exiting from the deceased girls' dorm, looking shifty. You had had a bad feeling about him when you had visited his room, interrupting what appeared to be a snogging session with a girl that seemed way to pretty to be his girlfriend. He hadn't had any good answers when Dean had interviewed him, either.

When you came back to his dorm in the evening, you tried to take him in for questioning, but he had already transformed. Since Dean had slipped him a tracking device in the first interrogation, it was easy to follow him when he fled. In the park outside the dorms, you cut him off and Dean took him down with a clean shot to the head. 

Between the three of you, Chris was quickly buried and you headed home. You reached the bunker just before the sun was rising and fell right into bed.

*

The next day, you brewed a gallon of coffee and dove back into Richardson research. Sam pulled up records of construction plans for his house, trying to guess where he stored the artifacts. Dean lounged on the couch and tried to hide the fact that he was catching up on his sleep. To be fair, he had been driving most of the distance and probably needed the sleep, so you and Sam shared knowing glances and annoyed him less than he would have annoyed you in the same position. You went to hit the books in the library to find out more about the artifacts themselves.

Staring into a dusty tome of bible interpretation, you felt your own eyelids grow heavier and heavier. You realized you had just read the same two sentences for the third time without taking in their meaning. _The seal of Solomon grants the power to command demons and jinn. It is made of brass and iron._ You rubbed your eyes. If you didn't watch it, you'd fall asleep as well.

"Hello, kitten," a voice suddenly murmured into your ear. You flinched and your heart nearly stopped from shock. A soft kiss on your neck, light as a feather, sent shivers down your spine.

"Fuck, you startled me," you said, slamming the book shut and turning your head up to a far too smug looking demon. "Hi there."

"I'll kiss it better," he smirked and bent down for another teasingly light kiss on your cheek. He shoved your books to the side and leaned against the table in front of you.

"I take it you took care of the werewolf successfully?"

"Of course. Did you miss us already?" you asked ironically, curious about why he was visiting again so soon.

"Actually, I was missing you," he replied. "Would you like to accompany me to dinner and a business meeting tonight?"

"A business meeting?"

Crowley was involved in many shady businesses and you didn't approve of half of them.

"An acquaintance of mine, the boss of a large company, is looking to sell and I'd like to make a deal and have you there for luck."

Whatever tendrils of elation had developed during his first few words dissipated in a cloud of disappointment. While it was nice that he wanted to have you there, helping him obtain souls was out of the question.

"Sorry, but I'm not going to be an accomplice in soul deals," you said evenly, trying not to let on that you had wanted to come.

Crowley tugged on a lock of your hair impatiently. "I know, kitten, you have that pesky little thing called a conscience. I haven't forgotten. So don't worry, it's a regular business deal. Corporate stocks for money, not a single soul involved."

Relieved, you considered his invitation and came to the conclusion any sensible woman would have come to. 

"I don't have anything to wear," you thought aloud. 

An affectionate smile appeared on Crowley's lips. 

"Let Daddy take care of that, darling."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know by now how much I love feedback! Please do tell me if there's something that bugs you or something that feels out of character for our sweeties as well. As much as I love the kudos, I need to grow as a writer. Thank you!


	8. Chapter 8

Sam and Dean weren't happy about you spending time with Crowley, and voluntarily at that, but you were an adult and they couldn't forbid you to go. Not for lack of trying on Dean's part though, he forbid you quite expressively to accompany the demon, but you knew it was just his way of dealing. Sam was coughing and muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "Stockholm Syndrome", but let you go without resistance.

To spite them further, Crowley enveloped you in a tight embrace and grinned obnoxiously at Sam and Dean before whisking you away. You'd have to bake a lot more pie to smooth things over when you were back. 

When you tried to orientate yourself after the zapping, you found yourself in the middle of the largest alleyway you had ever seen. Each side of the street held three lanes and was lined with huge trees. Tall old buildings were lining the street along the broad sidewalk. People were chattering around you. You listened for a bit and thought you heard the sounds of French. Considering the size of everything, this had to be the Paris. 

Crowley led you to one of the sleek glass-fronted stores the names of which you recognized only from women's magazines. On the way there, you passed a street sign that said "Avenue des Champs-Élysées". Paris it was, then.

Entering the store, you immediately felt horribly out of place. Everything was designed perfectly, the store was as clean as any building could get and the vast expanses of marble floor reflected every small sound. You became acutely aware of the frayed jeans and old sneakers you were wearing.

A thin woman with dark hair that was forced into a tight bun came to greet you and offered to help. She spoke a bit of English, but with a terrible French accent and seemed a little too keen to sell. There were lots of beautiful dresses, but all of them seemed a little too extravagant for a dinner date. When you took your time browsing the clothes, not knowing what would be fitting for the venue you were invited to, she hovered next to you and tapped her heel impatiently. You didn't even have time to try on one of the dresses before Crowley snapped his fingers, thereby sticking her foot to the floor, and announced you were leaving. 

"If we had that kind of customer service in hell, we wouldn't have any customers," he remarked ironically, once outside, and dragged you into a little café to have coffee before going to the next store. 

He was surprisingly good-natured about the shopping trip and you taking your time to choose. You were used to men that grumbled if you spent more than a minute in the cosmetics aisle of your local supermarket, so your standards weren't high, but shopping with Crowley was fun. He seemed to enjoy the French joie de vivre and fit right into the well dressed, self indulgent crowd at the café. You discussed whether it paid to visit the Louvre, with you – hating crowds – being against it, and Crowley being in favor. You had to change your opinion a little though, since the option of a private tour guided by someone who could just appear there in the middle of the night made the trip there seem attractive, as opposed to being shoved from painting to sculpture by a throng of thousands of other tourists. After agreeing on that, you went on shopping.

In the next store, a bubbly little blonde with false lashes and a little more rouge than she needed gesticulated wildly to make up for her foreign language skills. She seemed nice enough, but tried to sell you the very modern season's couture in colors that clashed horribly in the garment itself, never mind with your hair and skin tones. Again, you left quickly without you trying on any clothes (though Crowley didn't stick any of her limbs to any surfaces).

When you entered the third store, you were a little weary already. The grand chandeliers and velvet upholstery indicated the same ambiance as before. Maybe high fashion wasn't all it was cracked up to be. You felt more at home in the medium-priced clothing stores where people left you alone until you asked for help.

"Bonjour Madame, Monsieur," a soft voice greeted deferentially. It belonged to a young man with an impossible mop of dark hair that was falling into his face in curls from the top of his head, but cut short at the sides. He was slender and sharply dressed in a three-piece-suit without the jacket. It suited him nicely.

"Je m'appelle Julien. Comment est-ce que je peux vous aider?" he asked and you looked to Crowley for help. The men exchanged a few words you didn't understand in French, then changed to English.

"Would you like to browse for a bit?" the shop assistant asked with a slight accent and you nodded, glad to have a pause from the sales talk. In the shops before you had felt like you had to defend yourself from the dresses the ladies had wanted to foist on you.

The shop assistant nodded and walked past his coworker to the back of the shop. You browsed the clothes rails and looked at a few garments. They all seemed more to your taste than in the shops before, if a little posh. A little black dress would probably fit the occasion fine, but there were several of those. The sizes were all different from the US too. Looking around you for help, you found Crowley busy with his phone. 

In that moment, the shop assistant returned with a tray of drinks. He caught your eye and smiled at you, then stopped next to Crowley, touching his elbow lightly.

"If you would like to sit," he indicated an area with comfortable seats and a changing room. It was separated from the rest of the store by plants and curtains. The shop assistant led the way and you followed, with Crowley's hand on the small of your back. You sat and took the offered sparkly wine drinks. The shop assistant stood before you.

"How may I help you, Madame?" he asked. You liked the soft way he pronounced the French words, they seemed to melt in his mouth like chocolate. He ran his hands through the unruly curls that were falling into his eyes. 

"I'd like to have a dress for a nice dinner, nothing too flashy," you answered. 

He nodded. "Do you prefer any colors or cuts?"

"No idea... nothing too bright, though, I think. Whatever suits me."

He gave you an appraising look. "You will look beautiful in any dress, Madame."

You blushed and found Crowley smirking at you from the seat next to you. 

"What would you like to see on Madame, Monsieur?" the young man asked Crowley, to your surprise. You wondered if you were supposed to be offended. You were quite able to choose your own clothing, thank you very much. But having Crowley in charge worked well for the both of you and the sales assistant seemed to sense that. Unlike the ladies in the other stores, he made an effort to engage him in conversation.

In response to the question, Crowley let his eyes run down your body slowly, then turned back to him. 

"I'm quite of your opinion, Julien. Why don't you choose something for her to try?"

Julien inclined his head and went to collect a dress for you. You watched him go and noticed Crowley do the same. When he was gone, your gazes met and you both smiled. Crowley patted his thighs. 

"Come here, kitten."

You went over to him and sat on his lap. He took your chin in his hand and turned your face towards him. 

"Julien likes you," he said, amused. "He's behaving all proper, but I can sense his heart beat faster when he looks at you."

You smiled at him. He didn't seem bothered and had no reason to be. You wondered what he was intending by telling you this. 

"Well, I'm here with you," you answered. "So tough luck for Julien."

Crowley touched his lips to yours softly in a brief kiss. 

"What about you? Do you want him?"

His eyes searched yours. Well, if he could sense heart beats, then he probably knew the answer already, and better than you did. 

"He's cute, yes. But as I said, I'm here with you."

Crowley smirked. "And you think that's a reason you can't have him?"

You were puzzled. What did he mean, have? Did he want to take Julien home? Julien chose this moment to come back with a selection of dresses for you and interrupted your train of thought. You tried to jump up, not wanting to be found in Crowley's lap, but he held on to you and kept on smirking. 

If Julien found your seating arrangements to be inappropriate, he didn't let it on. He presented a few pretty dresses to you, put them inside the changing room and waved you in. 

"If you need help, just call, Madame." 

He closed the curtain behind you. You tried the first garment, a dark red dress the size of which showed Julien had perfectly assessed yours. It hugged your body nicely, but it was a little shorter than anything you had ever worn. You made sure no essentials were peeking out and pulled back the curtain to step out. 

Crowley and Julien were chatting in French, which sounded exotic and beautiful to your ears. What Crowley had been neglecting to tell you was that Julien seemed to like him as well. While they were chatting, Julien, standing beside Crowley's seat, smiled and had one hand on Crowley's shoulder. When you left the changing room, barefooted since the sneakers didn't quite fit the dress, they stopped talking and turned to you. 

"Oh, pardon, I'll bring some shoes," Julien squeezed Crowley's shoulder and left again. 

Crowley looked at you in your short, tight dress. 

"You're beautiful," he commented. "Do you like it?"

Stepping towards him, you looked at yourself in a big mirror. The dress hugged your curves perfectly. It had little folds in strategic places that accentuated your best features. You wanted to take back everything you had thought about posh fashion shops. 

"It's nice," you said, "but maybe a little much for the dinner."

A nudge of Crowley's powers made you take another step closer to him and he pulled you in his lap again, this time with your back against his front. 

"It's perfect," he said, his gravelly voice running over you like a caress. "But you have more to choose from."

He let his hands wander up the inside of your thighs and slipped one of his hands under your dress. Again with the public spectacle. You were slowly getting a feeling that Crowley might be a bit of an exhibitionist. His fingers found your panties and moved in little strokes along the seam. You were pretty sure that he sensed exactly how you were torn between shame and arousal and got his kicks from that. You squirmed and tried to see if Julien was coming back. 

"Stop it," you hissed when you heard footsteps approaching. You felt more than heard the chuckles running though Crowley's body, but mercifully he moved his hands down a few inches onto your thigh. You snapped your legs shut just before Julien turned the corner. 

Julien set the boxes he was carrying down onto a side table and took a pair of high heels out of the first box. Kneeling down before the both of you, he lifted your leg, smoothing his thumb along the ankle and slipped on the first shoe. Then he repeated the procedure on the second foot, letting his hand linger a little longer than necessary. With big, innocent eyes, but a mischievous little smile, he looked up from his kneeling position at Crowley, then you.

"Thank you," you said sheepishly and, when he stood and offered his hand, took it to stand up yourself. It was good he had a firm grip on you, since the shoes didn't do much for your balance. You turned to the mirror and let go of Julien's hand. The effect of the shoes on the overall outfit was very nice. Now you just had to make sure you didn't actually have to walk in them. 

Carefully, you walked to the changing room and stepped out of the shoes. 

"I'm going to try the second dress," you said and closed the curtain. 

Well, who knew that even shopping could turn out to be interesting with that big flirt of a King. You took off your dress and laid it carefully to the side, then loosened the clasps of the hanger on the second one. It was black and had a beautiful off the shoulder neckline. You removed your bra and slipped it on. Since the cut prevented you from lifting your arms too far, you couldn't pull the zip in the back closed. Luckily, you had two men at your disposal. You opened the curtain and showed your back. 

"Can I get a little help, please?"

You batted your eyelashes at Julien. Three could play this game. 

"Bien sûr, Madame," Julien came to the changing room, adjusted your dress and closed the zipper in the back. His hands ghosted over the naked skin of your back and you felt his breath on the back of your neck. In the mirror, you saw him looking at you. 

"It looks good on you," he said, setting his hands on your hips. "Maybe a little wide here."

That was a big old lie, since the dress fit perfectly. But if he wanted to find excuses to touch you, more power to him. You noticed that Crowley had stood up and was walking towards you. 

"Like what you see?" you asked. 

He let his eyes roam over you and Julien, standing close together in the warm light of the changing room and seemed content. 

"Definitely," he answered. "And the dress is very nice as well."

Crowley stepped closer to you and, when Julien retreated and started to remove his hands, covered them with his. 

"You look delectable, kitten," Crowley murmured. He looked over your shoulder at Julien. 

"Doesn't she?"

"She does, Monsieur," Julien agreed in flirtatious submission. Then, with his eyes on Crowley's, he bent to kiss your neck. 

Crowley moved both their hands north, sliding over your breasts and caressing them through the thin fabric of the dress. You shivered as their fingers brushed over your quickly rising nipples. Taking your lips in an impassioned kiss, Crowley pulled your head to the side, so Julien had better access to your neck. 

After a second, he broke the kiss to whisper, " _dents,_ " to Julien, then went on kissing you. 

You didn't understand his words, but felt their effect a second later, when Julien wasn't shy to sink his teeth into your neck and shoulders. You arched your back as shivers ran down your spine. Crowley smiled against your lips. 

"Elle aime un peu de douleur," Crowley murmured. 

"Alors on va subvenir à ses besoins," Julien answered, then licked over a bite mark. 

You didn't have any idea what they were talking about and, frankly, didn't even care. You were content to hear them talk in that purely erotic language and feel their touch. Their joined hands had parted again to go their separate, exploring ways. You felt your head swimming from excitement. 

Only a few weeks before you had led a chaste life, without time for relationships of any kind, except for the one you had with your hand. Even the occasional wank had seemed daring and obscene, then. Now, standing in a changing room in Paris, halfway into a threesome, you found your perspective on daring and obscene had changed. 

With his arms around you, Crowley kissed his way to your cheek and neck. In the mirror, you saw Julien watch Crowley with an admiring, lustful look in his eyes. You took a step back to give Crowley more space and felt your jaw drop when he let go of you, sneaked an arm around Julien and pulled him close, then pressed his lips to his. You had never seen Crowley kiss someone like that and damn it looked hot. There had been the odd joke about Crowley and his deals, but you hadn't really expected him to be quite so enthusiastic about, well, men. 

Julien's eyes had fluttered closed and he kissed back hungrily, opening his mouth for Crowley's tongue. You leaned back against the mirror and watched them in awe. Thinking back, you didn't recall seeing two men kiss passionately like that, ever. You certainly wouldn't have expected the sight to turn you on so much. Crowley pulled Julien's head back by his hair to expose his neck and licked a broad stripe along it, like a vampire trying to have a first taste of his meal. 

After a few moments, Crowley seemed satisfied with his impact on the panting young man and extended his arm, inviting you to come closer. Again you were encased between the men's strong bodies, this time with your front towards Julien, who looked as flushed and excited as you felt. His pupils were so dilated you almost couldn't see his blue irises anymore. Raising your hand to his smooth cheek, you leaned in for a tentative kiss and were surprised by his soft and gentle response. Julien was definitely the kind of man you could have fallen for, before all the crazy supernatural stuff had come into your life. He licked against your lower lip lightly, and you opened up for him, letting your tongue dance with his. Behind you, you heard appreciative noises and soft murmurs in French and a smokey voice. You gasped for breath. 

Pulling your hands down and guiding them to Julien's waist, Crowley continued to murmur in your ear, though he changed to English.

"Let's make him feel good, shan't we?"

He opened Julien's pants, then took your hand, lifted it to his mouth and licked squarely across it. Julien's eyes widened as Crowley slid your joined hands inside Julien's pants and underwear, rubbing your wet palm against his hard, naked cock. He bit his lip as Crowley's hand squeezed, tightening yours on Julien's cock in the process. By far rougher than you would have been, Crowley dragged your hands up and down, jerking him off. Soon, Julien was writhing and gasping and seemed to be close to climax. You leaned forwards to kiss him and relaxed your hand, letting Crowley take care of the rhythm. Julien kissed you wildly, his hips snapping forwards, towards your hands, as if of their own accord. Moments later, his body jerked, went rigid and you felt his come run slowly over your hand. 

Crowley slid out your hands and lifted them to your mouth. Watching Julien's face, you licked at Crowley's hand, sucking his fingers into your mouth. You didn't love the taste of come, but didn't dislike it either and Julien's mesmerized expression was well worth the action. 

A wave of Crowley's hand vanished the mess on your hands and, if Julien's surprised gasp was any indication, also the come in his pants. 

"Don't ask and we won't lie," Crowley advised him before he could ask. "Now, what are we going to do about this little lass here?"

Julien quickly got his bearings and concentrated at the task at hand rather than the disconcerting disappearance of his come. 

"Vous avez dit qu'elle aime un peu de douleur," he murmured deferentially. "Peut-être qu'on pourrait la ligoter?"

He held up a ribbon from one of the dresses he had brought. Crowley grinned evilly at him, nodded and pulled you out of the dressing room to the seats. You wondered what he was planning, afraid that he was trying to live his dream of putting you on exhibition again. Gently pushing you down on a comfortable seat, Crowley raised your hands over your head, where Julien caught them and tied them together with the ribbon he had procured.

"Good," Crowley said, kneeled down before you and slipped his hands under your dress, pulling down your already wet panties. You had a good idea where this was going and liked the itinerary, except for the part where any customer or sales assistant could walk in at any given time and see you.

"But, what if somebody comes in?" you whispered imploringly to Crowley, who seemed amused, but didn't react further. Having gotten rid of your panties, he shoved up your dress and spread your legs. 

"Would you like to have taste?" he asked Julien, who promptly traded places with him and kneeled before you while Crowley held your tied hands above your head. Shy about showing yourself, you tried to close your legs, but it seemed Crowley was working a little mojo to prevent you from doing that. You shot a dirty look up his way, but were quickly distracted by hands on your thighs and a mouth on your privates.

Julien kissed you carefully, then ran his clever tongue along your clit, all the while looking up at you with his big eyes. Your breathing quickened as your skin started to tingle and all the blood in your body seemed to converge in your pussy. 

"Yesss," you hissed. 

Julien kept up the licking, using his fingers to rub and stroke around your entrance. Your legs started trembling when he sucked on the little nub of flesh, first lightly, then a little harder. 

You threw your head back on the back of the seat and found Crowley staring at you hungrily. You licked your lips, looking at his crotch. After a moment, he seemed to get it, let go of your hands and opened his pants. The angle of your head allowed you to take him in deep and you relaxed your throat, leaving him in control. Slowly, he moved his cock in and out of your mouth. When you let your teeth graze along his length a little, watching his reaction, he shot you a warning look, but from the little gush of precome you tasted, you gathered he wasn't averse to a little pain himself.

A nip on your clit brought your attention back to what was going on downstairs. Julien pressed two fingers inside you, fucking you in time with his licking and biting. You felt yourself grow closer to orgasm. Your groans vibrated in your throat, making your king jerk. Feeling, but not seeing a hand grip your neck, you realized he worked his mojo again. Having your hands bound, neck gripped tightly and two men on you was too much. All pleasure concentrated in your clit and, shaking, you tried to stay quiet as fireworks of endorphins were going off in your body.

Your orgasm brought Crowley over the edge as well. A groan and a muttered "Kitten," were your only warning before he came down your throat and you concentrated on swallowing to avoid choking. After a moment, you felt all of his restraints on you loosen and he pulled his cock out of your throat. Quickly, you pulled your dress down to cover yourself.

Finally relaxed, you sighed deeply and immediately started to choke. The position had been a bit hard on your air passages. Crowley handed you your wine and you took a sip while Julien wiped a hand across his mouth and started to get up. You pulled him up to sit next to you and cuddled into his arms, handing him the wine.

"Mon dieu," Julien said, wrapped one arm around you and took a swig of the drink.

"Hell, yes," you agreed, winking at Crowley, who plopped down in the seat next to you. Smirking, he stole back the drink while you stole a kiss from Julien, tasting wine and your own juices on his lips. You blushed and wondered how your interpretation of daring and obscene would change in the months and years to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to be a quick shopping trip and dinner but it kinda escalated from meeting Julien... sorry ;)  
> Thanks for all the comments and kudos, you lovely people!


	9. Chapter 9

"Now _that_ is what I call customer service," Crowley sighed contentedly when you left the shop together. You giggled and smiled at him. 

After a few minutes of relaxing, Julien had had to work again and had bagged your purchases. In the end, you had gotten both dresses, the shoes, a shawl to go with the dresses and a lot of memories. Next to his coworker, Julien had said goodbye to the both of you in a very professional manner, but winked at you. When he had given back Crowley's credit card, you had seen his hand linger on Crowley's and his eyes twinkling at the king.

Crowley walked you to your next stop, a hairdresser, where your hair and make-up would be done. Crowley had announced that he would be off and pick you up again later. Before he let you go in, he pressed you against the wall of the building, staring down into your eyes with a serious expression. 

"I'm not sure I like sharing you," he growled and kissed you roughly, biting your lips and burning the skin on your face with his beard. 

"I never-" you tried to explain yourself, knees weak, when he let up – you wouldn't have hooked up with Julien if he hadn't all but engineered it. But the king cut you off quickly. 

"I know, kitten," he said and let a much softer kiss follow. "I'm torn between wanting you all for myself and showing you the world, shining, shimmering, splendid. Tell me kitten, when did you last let your heart decide?"

You had a déjà-vu. The words seemed strangely familiar from a wholly different context.

"Can you… open my eyes?" you asked, the memories from your childhood slowly coming back. You raised your eyebrows. 

"Take me wonder by wonder?"

Crowley smirked. "Damn it, you caught me. But yes, I'd like to take you over, sideways and under on a magic ride, carpet or no carpet."

"I can't believe the King of Hell is misquoting Aladdin to me," you shook your head, smiling.

Crowley raised his eyebrows. "What? It's a classic!"

He gave you his credit card, shooed you into the shop and took off while a motherly hairdresser pampered you. She didn't speak a word of English, but, using your hands and feet, you communicated rather well. She brought you magazines to choose a hairstyle and you pointed at the pictures you liked. After she had washed and cut your hair, administered a deep conditioner, blow-dried and finally pinned it up, a younger woman took over to do your make-up. When she was finished, you went to the bathroom to change into your new dress. You chose the black one you had already made memories in. It went well with the shoes and the bracelet.

When you were finished, Crowley was already waiting for you in front of the shop. He smiled at you, took your hand and made you turn for him.

"You're beautiful, kitten," he said and took two small red jewels, similar in color to the bracelet, out of his pocket. When he offered them to you, you realized they were earrings. 

"These should fit the outfit," Crowley said and fastened them to your ears. 

"Perfect," he said. When he took his hand down, you realized he was wearing jewelry as well, a new ring. It looked vaguely familiar, though you couldn't remember him having worn a ring before. He offered his arm and you were zapped away. 

In the restaurant you were seated on a lovely patio, half inside, half outside, with a nice view of the gardens. You were glad Crowley had taken you shopping, since you really hadn't owned anything elegant enough to be worn to this place. The food came with a variety of cutlery you weren't too comfortable using and a multitude of wine choices. You stuck to water, left all food decisions with Crowley and watched him closely, emulating his use of cutlery. 

Crowley's dinner guest turned out to be a very conservative old man called Stewart whom Crowley wanted to persuade to sell company shares while still alive. Hadn't Crowley told you this before, you wouldn't have had any idea that this was going to be the objective of the dinner. Praising Stewart's sons, Crowley first provoked him into listing doubts about their economical expertise. He then directed the conversation towards his business partner's plans for retirement, emphasizing how important it was that one could really let go and trust that the successors would know what to do. When Stewart inquired about his own companies, Crowley gave him the impression that everything was running as smoothly as it could go. He brought up that, due to his experience, he had been asked to act as advisor for several other companies of younger businessmen. Lastly, he mentioned in passing that he had a certain amount of money he wanted to invest. 

You were impressed by his tactical moves. The man would probably think it had been his own idea to offer company shares to Crowley. 

Your role in this dinner was to be there, eat and drink, enjoy yourself and join the conversation whenever you felt like it. You were glad to miss out on the business talk and joined into inquiring after Stewart's plans for retirement. You pitched in the idea of yoga, bringing peace to soul and mind, and received a smile and a grateful squeeze on your hand from Crowley. Stewart seemed nice enough, making small talk to include you in conversation. When Stewart asked you about your own profession, you said you were working for a private detective agency, an answer the Winchesters often used, but made sure to mention your low age as a risk factor in business.

After the main course, Stewart excused himself, hinted that he might consult Crowley in a business affair at a later date and left you alone for dessert. 

You finally allowed yourself a glass of wine and Crowley ordered Scotch and a cigar. He told you about his last few meetings with Stewart, who had been competitive and aggressive in his conversations. The presence of a woman in a different social environment seemed to have done Crowley's plan a world of good.

"I'll have to give part of those shares over to you, if we succeed," he lamented, but you could feel he was glad you had come. After the day you had had together, you felt safe in teasing back. 

"It would be so nice to have another income. I might even get to experience having my own bed when I'm on a hunt with the boys," you said, trying to keep your face straight.

Crowley raised his eyebrows. 

"Not that it's bad, sharing is caring as they say, but Dean snores and Sam is just so _big_ and I always seem to draw the short straw…"

You took a swig from your drink and tried not to grin as you saw the king's jealousy darken his expression.

"In winter it's fine though. My feet are always cold, so it's nice to be able to snuggle up to two-"

"Enough!" Crowley whispered in irritation. "There will be no more _snuggling_ in beds with the Winchesters!"

You grinned and he realized you had been having him on. 

"You little minx," he grumbled, but raised his glass towards you. 

You stayed silent while a waiter came to your table, removed the burnt down candle and lit a new one. Crickets were chirping around you. The mild summer evening was perfect for a night out. You sighed. 

"It's beautiful here. Do I really have to go home?" you joked, wanting to emphasize how nice this evening was, but quickly realized it could be taken as far too serious a question. Your heart beat faster as you wondered whether you should explain you had not meant to invite yourself to hell. The bracelet flared red for a moment, then darkened again. 

"Wouldn't you want to?" Crowley inquired with interest. "You always gave the impression that hunting was important to you."

You shrugged. "It is, but it's also frustrating. Are you familiar with Freud?"

Crowley smiled and nodded. "Met him a few times. Charming fellow, although he was a tiny bit of a chauvinist."

You tried not to be impressed too much. "Well, my Über-Ich says I should spend my life helping the Winchesters hunt and save the world, but the Es says I could go and do fun stuff with you instead."

"You could get rid of that pesky Über-Ich if you wanted, kitten," Crowley suggested.

Yeah, right. You weren't quite stupid enough to sell your soul. You noticed your phone vibrate in your bag and ignored it. 

"Are you trying to seduce me to the dark side?" you asked, grinning. 

Crowley leaned forwards to whisper conspiratorially, "We have cookies."

You laughed. After a while, when your phone was vibrating again, you did take it out, apologizing.

"It's probably the boys, worried about me," you explained. Crowley laid down his cigar and gestured to the waiter. 

"Let's take you home," he said while you discovered five missed calls from Dean and four texts from Sam, telling you to come home right away. As you held your phone, another text arrived. 

_Richardson dead. Artifacts gone. Watch out for yourself._

Chills ran down your spine. Apart from you, Dean, Sam and Cas, there had been only one person who had known about your interest in Richardson. One person who had seen you researching his artifacts. One person who had informed you about a hunt in the opposite direction of Richardson's house on the day he had probably died. One person who was watching you right now. 

Remembering the hunch you had had about his mind reading before, you tried to wipe you mind blank and get back into the romantic summer evening dinner mood. Maybe it had been completely unrelated. Somebody else could have known about the artifacts. He was bound to have acquired them from other people, so there were probably lots of suspects. Luckily, you were awesome at bullshitting yourself. You smiled at Crowley, who was still staring at you.

"Just the usual. Problems with a hunt," you explained. "They tell me they need me and my Über-Ich's getting into gear again."

Crowley seemed to relax a little. 

"Then let's get you there to save the world," he deadpanned. "Without the cuddling, though."

You walked out of the restaurant and turned the corner. Like usual, Crowley didn't settle for touching your hand, but enveloped you fully into his arms before zapping you away. 

Returned to your room in the bunker, you had an inkling that this feeling of rightness between you would change with all the information you'd be getting in the following hours and that there was a chance that next time you'd be seeing each other, you'd just be hunter and demon again. That prospect hurt, more than it should. Damn. 

You pressed yourself closer into Crowley's embrace, pretending to be oblivious to everything else for as long as you dared, then stepped away from him.

"Thank you for everything," you said, trying for a light tone. 

Crowley nodded and was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has it all been too good to be true?


	10. Chapter 10

Your welcome was nearly as bad as you had expected it to be. You had quickly changed into different clothes and let your hair down before leaving your room. Still, Dean couldn't hold himself back from making hurtful comments about you dolling yourself up for the demon. Sam too reminded you that your relationship with Crowley wasn't healthy. Except for the fact that they didn't have posters, it was shaping up to become a full-out intervention. 

Sam gave you an update on Richardson. While you had been away, Sam and Dean had visited his house again for observation purposes, seen that the door had been forced open, and entered. Richardson's remains had been distributed over three rooms. The boys had found a large security vault in a hidden part of the cellar – emptied out – as well as the distinct smell of sulfur. 

"It might not have been him," you said, without believing it yourself. 

Sam and Dean shared a look. 

"He set us up," Sam said. "He's never given us information on possible hunts before. He just wanted us out of the way. He knew exactly where we were, all the time, because of that thing." He indicated your bracelet. "And let's be honest, he is the king. Even if he didn't do it himself, it was still on his orders."

You buried your face in your hands and were silent. They were right, had been right all the time. And even Crowley himself had told you. You remembered his words at the bar, _"I’m not partial as to who I work with, as long as there is something in it for me"._

"You're right, I shouldn't have taken the bracelet. And he is a murdering bastard," you said, finally. "But even so, I don't think he would have killed fewer people recently if I hadn't been sleeping with him."

Sam shook his head while Dean's face was steadily growing redder. 

"If you hadn't what now?" Dean asked in a voice so pleasant you were really afraid.

"What do you think I've been doing with him – playing chess?" you attacked before he could. 

"I thought you had more of a brain, that's what I've been thinking," Dean snapped. "You're even worse than Crowley, you have a soul, but don't bother using it."

Oh you had had it with the self-righteous man, forever picking on you, when the rest of Team Free Will wasn't any different either. You took a deep breath before exploding.

"Oh, so it's okay if Sam sleeps with demons-"

" _A demon_ ," Sam interjected, irritated. 

"-and you sleep with an angel and even Cas manages to get picked up by a rogue reaper, all of whom have been trying to kill you at some point, but heaven forbid a WOMAN should have some fun!"

Dean sputtered. "This has nothing to do with you being a woman. None of us should have and you could do a lot better than that piece of-"

"SHUT UP, both of you!" Sam shouted and you fell silent. 

"What are we going to do?" Sam asked, voice still raised. "Later, you can fight all you want, but for now, we need to know what to do."

"We can't let him run around murdering people," Dean said and gave you a belligerent look. You didn't protest.

"I need the bracelet off," you added. You wanted it off, too. Protection he had called it, ha. Protection for him, maybe, from being detected while killing people.

"We need the artifacts," Sam said.

"He has them," you realized. The ring – it had been the Seal of Solomon, that's why you had recognized it. You told Sam and Dean you had seen it on his hand, in the same design as in the book you had been researching.

"If we have that, we can command demons," Sam was sounding hopeful. "We can order them to bring the rest of the stuff." 

"Also, he has outstayed his welcome in the bunker," Dean added. "I'll take him out of the wards, so he won't be able to stop by when he feels like it."

"Wait for a bit, will you?" you asked, earning yourself hard stares from both brothers. You rolled your eyes. 

"I have an idea of how to catch him."

*

Now you were back to square one, feeling daring and obscene while masturbating, although this time, you knew were about to have an audience. Sam and Dean had quickly consented to waiting in front of the door, on condition that you would call them in as soon as Crowley had arrived – provided that your hunch was correct and the bracelet would call him to your side.

You took a deep breath, hoping it would be a fluke. Lying back on your bed, you tried to think of nice things, safe things. Julien, touching you gingerly in the changing room; going down on his knees for you right in the shop. Your hand went into your panties, touching softly, rubbing. You wondered how long it would take for Crowley to show up. He had seemed to know that something was up. Maybe he would play it safe and not come at all. But if your plan worked, the bracelet alerted him and he came, you hoped the devil's traps under the chair, the carpet and the bed would hold him.

Safe things forgotten, you remembered your last kiss, in front of the hairdresser's shop, rough and insistent. You had loved it when he had been in that kind of mood, wanting you, possessive; his attention focused on you alone. He had looked at you as if you had mattered, as if you had been the only thing that mattered. Who knew then that it had all been calculated. Even though you stomach was in knots from conflicting emotions, your flesh began to throb and as you felt your heartbeat quicken, you tried to listen up. 

As you had expected, you heard a rustle, then a gravelly voice said, "Well, fuck."

You snatched your hand out of your panties and sat up on the bed. On the chair in front of you, the King of Hell was sitting and writhing, trying to get off it. 

"Kitten, if would you be so kind as to release me, I would gladly lend a hand, or, a cock," he smirked at you. 

"I have a name," you said testily, not moving an inch.

"Now, darling, I know you're in a huff, but at least tell me what's bothering you and hear me out," he started to try and talk his way out of the sticky situation he knew he was in. He knew you wouldn't catch yourself a king just for the hell of it.

"Still not my name." You tried to sound way more confident than you felt. "How often did you spy on me?"

Crowley stopped trying to wiggle out of his chair and looked at you.

"Look, Y/n – see, I actually do know your name, I just like calling you kitten – I wouldn't say I spied on you. Rather, I checked in on you, to see if you were all right."

"Do you think you get points for knowing my name?" you asked, incredulous. "We've been having sex for weeks!"

"Which you liked, as far as I could tell. Now, tell me what's irking you so Daddy can take care of it," Crowley tried his charm again. You wanted nothing more than to be able to fall for it like before, but now being talked to like that was just insulting. You crawled off the foot of the bed to avoid coming close to the devil's trap and opened the door for Sam and Dean.

"What are you- oh bollocks," Crowley mumbled, then fell silent.

"You screwed us over," Dean barged into the room and went right into medias res. "Did you have to infect that werewolf or were you just planting him in that college?"

You sat back on your bed, knees drawn up to your chest and let the Winchesters do the interrogation. 

Crowley kept his eyes on you when he answered. "I did nothing of the sort. I happened to hear about the werewolf and merely passed along the information, as I have told you before."

"And how convenient that was," Sam accused, "just a few hours drive away and with a full moon to set a deadline."

The corner of Crowley's mouth twitched, but he stayed serious when he answered to Sam. "And if it was?"

"You murdering bastard," Dean cursed, "Why did you kill Richardson?"

"The truth," Sam insisted when Crowley's expression suggested he didn't even know who that was and was offended to be asked. 

"He hadn't been nice to kitten here," Crowley said, then corrected himself, "Y/n."

Dean scowled. "That's bullshit and you know it." 

"If you know what he was rumored to possess, you know why I had to have it." He looked at you. "Did you tell them how I hard I have to work to keep those devilish little demons in line?"

You didn't answer him, but noticed that he didn't wear the ring anymore. Although...

"He can make himself invisible," you said to Dean and Sam instead. "Maybe he can do the same to artifacts."

"Well, if somebody's going to search me, I suggest it's you, Moose. Dean would kill me and as for Y/n, well, let's just say she might just abandon the search as soon as she found something more interesting."

He let his gaze drop down to his lap, then smirked at you. You saw Sam reflexively holding out his arm to stop Dean from charging at him.

"I really hate you right now," you said, trying to keep your voice straight. "Don't think anything like that will ever happen again." Damn that hurt. You were such an idiot for thinking he cared about you at all.

"Well, what did you all expect? I never said I had turned good. You knew exactly what you were getting into, _kitten_. You knew who I am. I steal, I kill, I torture – was that news to you?"

Silence fell. He kind of had a point, you all had dropped your guard because he had been around a lot, not because he had been on your side. Still, it didn't change anything.

"What's the deal with the bracelet?" Sam asked, changing topic.

Crowley smirked. "One of my better inventions, if I say so myself. Stylish and useful."

"Spill," Dean interjected. "We don't like to hear you talk as much as you do, we just want the information."

Crowley sighed. "It's glass containing my blood, so I can feel its presence and, if it's laying next to a blood vessel, your blood pressure and pulse." He fixated you. "I suppose you want it off now."

"How did you guess," you muttered dejectedly.

"I'll need to work my powers for that," Crowley indicated the devil's trap, "so you'll have to release me."

Three sets of eyes looked at him in disbelief. He shrugged. 

"I had to try, didn't I?"

You held out your arm and Crowley raised an eyebrow. 

"Well, I can't take it off from a distance. You'll have to scoot over here and let me touch it. I swear you won't get pregnant."

His caustic tone nearly distracted you from a word that held potential for a panic attack. In that moment you realized you hadn't once thought of getting pregnant, not once insisted on contraception. You didn't even know why. You always had insisted, with the one guy you had slept with before. It had never even been up for discussion. On the verge of blurting out questions, you held back and decided to freak out about that later.

You moved to the edge of the bed and held out your arm. Crowley bit his lower lip and held your gaze while he unfastened the clasp and wound the bracelet off your arm. He held it out and you took it and tossed it onto the table. 

"So," Sam said, crossing his arms in front of his chest, "Will you give up the artifacts freely or do we have to play the old imprisonment-torture-questioning?"

Crowley leered at him. "How could I refuse an invitation to play with you, Moose?"

Dean held out the devil's trap cuffs he had brought. "To the dungeon he goes."

Sam and Dean put the handcuffs on him, let him out of the trap and led him to room 7B, one hand on each of Crowley's arms, demon blade in the other. 

You followed until you heard they had fastened him to a chair, safe inside another devil's trap. Then you went back to your room, locked it, lay down on your bed and cried. 

*

Everybody was on edge the following days. Cas, who had been on artifact reconnaissance when you had captured Crowley, found excuses not to return to the bunker after phoning in to hear what had happened. Sam guessed Cas must have thought his people skills didn't suffice for living in an atmosphere like this one, but you thought Cas' people skills were improving in leaps and bounds if he knew to stay away. You were seriously tempted to join him in his time-out, especially since Dean watched you like a hawk, as if he expected you to run to the dungeon, trying to elope with Crowley any time. You were surprised he was so protective of you.

Sam had grudgingly followed Crowley's advice and accepted that he was the least awkward choice for a body search. As expected, Crowley had made it as uncomfortable for him as he could, moaning and telling him about his love for tall, muscular men. Sam's search had come up with nothing. Still, it seemed implausible that Crowley would have taken the Seal to hell, where anybody could steal it, and left it there. The best indication for that was that Crowley didn't seem discontent to spend his time in the dungeon, tied to a chair. In fact, whenever Sam or Dean went down to ask whether he was bored enough to tell them about the artifacts, he was in a jolly good mood and tried to engage them in conversation.

During that week, you thought back on his caustic remark several times. Several times you wondered whether you could possibly be… but no, you didn't feel any different from before. And since bearing a demon's child wasn't nothing, you expected you would feel different. Wouldn't you? 

Finally, you couldn't wait any more. You knew you had to go down and talk the talk you should have talked weeks before. From the moment you came home with junk food and fruit filling for pie, Sam narrowed his eyes at you, knowing something was up. Luckily, Dean was slower on the uptake and you had time to pamper him with food, pie and beer until he was sitting on the couch and watching a movie, content and lightly drunk. When Dean was relaxed enough to let you steal his chips, you knew the time was right to tell them you were going down to speak with the demon - alone.

So after a short discussion, to the dungeon you went. And then you went back out again, first to he toilet, having a pee, then drinking some water in the kitchen. After the third excuse, you knew there was nothing for it, walked to the dungeon, steeled your heart and went in.

"What a nice surprise," Crowley welcomed you, far too happy for his predicament. "Tell me, Y/n, have you forgiven me yet? I was hoping you'd come for another, much more pleasurable body search."

You dragged a chair up to the table he was sitting at and sat.

"Nope. I'm here for information," you said. 

Crowley let his head fall back, obviously bored. 

"Not you as well. I've already told Moose and Squirrel that they can't talk, tickle or beat it out of me. I have simply forgotten where I've left the Seal! Although," he smirked, "I'm open to new and creative interrogation techniques."

You ignored his come-on. "I'm not here for that kind of information."

Crowley watched you through half-lidded eyes, more interested now. 

"What else can I do for you then, kitten?"

You hated the way he casually used his nickname for you, but didn't call him out on it. Your peace of mind depended on his goodwill and you weren't about to sacrifice that.

"You owe me an honest answer, no joking around this time."

He watched you in curiosity and didn't answer.

"I know I've been stupid not to research before and take care of it myself," you said, trying not to stumble over the words in your haste, "but I wondered if it would be possible for a human and a demon to have a child."

Crowley didn't react. You felt your cheeks getting hotter and hotter.

"Asking for a friend," you added, with a grimace that was supposed to be a smile but probably wasn't.

He smiled back nonetheless and raised his eyebrows. 

"Don't tell me the boys didn't give you the talk?"

You shook your head. Crowley leaned back in his seat. He looked amused, you noticed in irritation. 

"Well, kitten, the thing with the birds and the bats works just like the birds and the bees, so in theory, the answer to your question is yes. Was your _friend_ planning on having a half-demon child?"

You felt a horrible feeling of dread wash over you. Wasn't a demon's meat suit supposed to not really be alive? How could it be possible to conceive in these circumstances?

"She wasn't, that's why she's worrying," you replied. 

"She needn't. She's lucky she had a considerate lover who vanished his spunk, so she wouldn't carry his child."

You sighed deeply. You couldn't say why, but from the way he was talking, you were sure he was telling the truth. Thinking back, you remembered him working his powers on you, after sex. You had thought it was for convenience, not having to go clean up, but obviously, there had been more to it.

"Why did he bother?"

Crowley's expression turned serious. "Kitten, you have many clever books over there. Look up the word cambion and see what happens to a human mother in childbirth. I made the wild guess that you wanted to survive this little affair."


	11. Chapter 11

You did look it up and the pictures were so gruesome, you slammed the book shut before you had read to the end of the chapter. Relieved you weren't in any danger like that, you had the unreasonable urge to go back to Crowley and thank him for having made sure you didn't die, no matter what his own reasons had been. 

If only he had done something else to be captured, something inconsequential, like stealing something of yours. You would have nicked a glass of whiskey, sneaked to the dungeon and enjoyed having your wicked way with him for once. You would have made his mouth water, showing him what he couldn't have, since he was tied up and unable to move. You'd have chosen your outfit carefully, neckline low enough to present your cleavage in the best way when you leaned towards him, skirt just long enough to not let him see anything while you sat primly. You would have enjoyed having him in your control for once and you knew he would have been delighted, even if he hadn't shown it. You imagined feeding him the whiskey via your mouth, teasing him and pulling away more than letting him drink and kiss you. You would have claimed the temperature to be too high or some other stupid reason to take off your clothes, always outside his reach. Maybe you'd have sat on the floor, between his legs, batting your eyelashes up at him, or at the table in front of him, looking down. No matter where you'd have been sitting, you'd have made yourself…comfortable, until he would have begged for you to touch him. Afterwards, you'd have chatted about everything and nothing, about all the places in the world he wanted to show you and all the things you wanted to do with him. If only.

But he hadn't. He was a cold blooded murderer and had either brutally killed Richardson himself or he had had him quartered, which was really nearly the same, in your book. So there was no dungeon smooching for him or you. There were no hugs and no chatting either and it bothered you to know that this would be something you'd miss as well, if not more than the sex. You considered it a Very Bad Sign for your mental health.

Shoving the book aside, you pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes to stop them from dripping again. They did that, lately. And your chest ached frequently. Must be caused by some sort of virus. Sadly, you always knew when you were bullshitting yourself.

Wiping away the tears, you considered looking for Dean or Sam to get in a better mood but going to the Winchesters for comfort was like going to the desert for drinks. While they did care you were upset, they seemed not to have learned how to go about dealing with their own emotions, never mind those of others. You had had to teach them hugs when you had first started living with them, going to them, prodding and nudging them like a puppy in need of affection, or, as a last resort, actually telling them to hug you if they didn't get it. Well, you should get to reap the benefits of your teaching work, you thought, standing up and leaving the library.

The plus side of your "virus" was that, since the boys couldn't handle emotions well, they tended to agree to your wishes when they saw your red cheeks and the smudged eyeliner. Another movie night it was and you used the opportunity to move closer to Dean on the couch until he grudgingly lifted his arm and let you snuggle up to him. You had also had to teach them that friendly touching didn't mean you were sexually interested in them. That information had come as a relief to them, halfway into their "Y/n, we really like you as a friend" talk. You were glad you had talked that one out and could now enjoy having the boys' strong arms around you when you weren't feeling well.

The next days passed in relative quiet. Sam and Dean still took turns pretending to question Crowley on the artifacts, but were really observing why he was so damn carefree. One night, Dean realized Crowley was sitting on his chair so rigidly that it was obvious he didn't want to move. On the pretext of roughing him up a little, Dean shoved his chair forwards and discovered little scratches on the devil's trap. He was thinking quick enough not to let on that he had seen them. It was Crowley's bad luck that underneath the red paint forming the visible trap, there was another one that could only be seen in black light.

One day, you were just coming back from a walk outside when you heard Sam, Dean and Cas talking in the kitchen. Actually, Dean was doing the talking while the others listened. When you approached the kitchen, you didn't catch what Dean was saying anymore, but you heard Sam's reply. 

"I know he's a liability, I'm not saying we should do this for him."

"Why do you want to wait, then?" Cas asked, brow furrowed. 

"The sooner, the better, I say," Dean agreed.

"I-" Sam stopped talking when you entered the room and sent Dean a meaningful look.

Their expressions meant they had been talking about you. And "he" would be his infernal majesty. Apparently they wanted to do something to Crowley they thought you wouldn't like. Except that you had left the Crowley fan club when he had started quartering people.

"What are we voting on?" you asked directly, not even trying to act as if you hadn't heard. 

Dean gave you a hard look. "When to kill Crowley."

Your stomach dropped. You hadn't considered that option but it was what you did, wasn't it? Hunting things also meant ganking demons, at least it had before you had met Crowley. 

"He's not talking and we've seen how ruthlessly he murdered, even without the artifacts. What do you think he's going to do from now on, when he's free?" Dean went on.

Cas cleared his throat. "Did Sam's awkward pause not mean that we shouldn't talk about it in front of Y/n?"

You bet it did. Cas was getting sharp. He was being ignored, while Sam turned to you. 

"I thought it might still be a bit much for you," he said. "He is secure in the dungeon, we don't need to make decisions right now."

You shook your head, too stunned to feel anything.

"Don't hold back on my account, kill away. He's had it coming. I'm fine." 

Suspicious looks were being exchanged around the room. Cas started to say something, but a shake of Dean's head stopped him. You felt a wetness on your cheeks. 

"Excuse me, my virus is acting up."

Without looking at them, you turned and fled to your room. 

*

"Hello, darling. Sweet of you to visit, I'll see if I can clear my schedule to have a little chat with you," Crowley greeted you, his voice sounding tired and listless. 

It seemed his high spirits had dissipated in the last few days, he wasn't in a better mood than you were. You wondered if it had been a good idea to come see him. But you couldn't have stayed away. When the boys had discussed their schedule of killing him, the thought of never being able to talk to him again had hit you like a punch in the gut. You had taken some time to compose yourself, then come to the dungeon without plan or objective.

When Crowley saw your face, he frowned. "Why are you looking as if somebody killed your favorite puppy?"

You prayed for your eyes to stay dry. The comparison wasn't bad, it seemed he could still read you well. You sat at the table, noticing the shadows under Crowley's eyes and the long stubble on his cheeks. By now, not having his powers was taking its toll on him.

"What did the Winchesters do now?" Crowley inquired. "Tell me so I can have them punished."

You gave a wry smile at his joke. In his current situation, he was lucky if he wasn't being punished. You cut right to the chase.

"Sam and Dean are talking about killing you if you don't talk soon. They might kill you even if you do."

"They're just afraid of their love for me," Crowley said airily.

He always joked around like this with the boys, but he had never once said anything about him loving you or the other way around. You were glad he hadn't. You didn't think you could bear it if he made fun of you like that. You squashed the little voice in your head that reminded you this was a Very Bad Sign indeed.

"And what's got you in this mood?" Crowley went on. "Don't tell me the killing of a "murdering bastard" bothers you?"

You gritted your teeth. It was typical of Crowley to hoodwink someone and then act like the wronged party. 

"You don't even know what you did wrong, do you? Do you remember having a conscience at all?" you asked. 

"Yes, I do." Crowley confirmed. "Worst fifty years of my life." 

His smile was cold and calculating.

"I'm afraid I'm a much better demon than I was a man. It's true that I don't value a life like Richardson's like you do anymore, but-"

"And that you used someone you suggested you… cared about to help you kill him," you added. 

He blinked. "So that's what bothers you? Not that I kill, but that I deceived you? That I am not the open and truthful _boyfriend_ you had wished for?"

It wasn't true. It was about the killing and the viciousness of it, really. You felt your cheeks flush. Well, maybe it had been a little about his relationship to you. You had trusted him when he had acted as if he cared about you, looked out for you. 

"My life's work is saving people and you're going behind my back ruining that, brutally killing him! And using my credulity as well. I loved that bracelet!"

You realized you were talking rather loudly, so you took a breath and leaned back. Screaming would only activate the "virus" and you weren't ready to let him see that.

Crowley's expression softened. 

"Come here and let me make it better," he suggested. 

A very bad idea, the little voice in your head supplied, but you knew that already. It was such an attractive prospect, it had to be bad. You stood. 

"I can't. Will you tell them about the artifacts?" 

You saw his face fall at the rejection and knew the answer to your question was no before he gave it. 

"I can't," he echoed, his tone ironic. "Which means goodbye, I suppose. Don't blame yourself, kitten, it was bound to end like this. Give the boys my best and tell them it was nothing you did."

Huh? Crowley didn't make much sense, but you accepted it. Faced with the prospect of a near death, you'd probably talk crazy stuff as well. You nodded.

"I don't suppose there's a kiss goodbye?" he asked wistfully. "Dying man's last wish and everything?"

You stood rooted to the spot, unable to speak. You should have told him no straight away. Opening that door meant you'd just hurt more when he was gone for good. But you wanted so much to say yes, to go over there and fall into his arms and forget everything that had happened and pretend you could be together forever. Crowley took away the decision, interpreting your hesitance as rejection. 

"Oh well, a man can always hope. No matter."

With a gloomy expression, he watched you hover. It didn't seem he wanted to die, but he had clearly accepted his fate.

"You should go now, kitten. Take care of yourself."

You felt sad at being dismissed so quickly, but he was right, you should go. There was nothing more you could say to him that would make any difference to him or you at all. You had nothing to offer him anymore.

"Bye," you whispered, then fled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry! More angst and no smut - I have a bad conscience, but Crowley is not behaving as he should... I hope he'll come around.   
> Hugs and kisses to all the lovely people who are with me on this journey and leave kudos and comments! <3


	12. Chapter 12

After a few hours of rolling from side to side on your bed, replaying the conversation in your head, including "Dying man's last wish and everything?", you finally got up and decided to take action. Still in your pajamas, you stormed to the dungeon, slammed the door open, and strode up to a baffled and slightly guilty looking King of Hell. You let yourself fall into his lap, took his face in your hands and planted a kiss on him. 

It took him a second to realize what was happening, but then he caught on quickly and leaned into you, opening his lips for you. You felt him trying to move up his hands, then give a little growl when the restrictions interfered with his impulses. Letting your hands run through his stubble, you put all your emotion in the kiss. Crowley kissed back hungrily, holding on to your pajama top and drawing you even closer. There was no warring of tongues this time, but a slow and desperate clinging to and sliding against each other. 

You cherished the taste of Crowley himself, without drinks or cigars to mask it, and the feeling of the man beneath you, a normal warm body, without any demonic powers at his disposal to distract you.

When you finally pulled away, you let your head rest against his for a second, then allowed yourself a look into his eyes. He had never looked at you like that before, without all the sass and the fake charm, just himself, and the moment was so intense, it very nearly broke your heart. Before he could spoil it by talking or you could spoil it by losing your composure, you turned away and walked back to your bed, leaving a bemused demon behind. 

Even though there still was some time until sunrise, you couldn't sleep anymore. You laid down on your bed, ruminated and waited for the sounds of the coffee machine, alerting you that Sam was awake. 

So, obviously you were not fine with killing Crowley. And while keeping him in the dungeon forever was an impractical solution, you weren't ready to let go of him and that was that. You'd tell the boys in the morning. After overhearing the conversation in the kitchen, you knew had Sam on your side already and you weren't above using your tears as leverage with Dean where the power of pie ended.

But everything went different from how you had planned. The boys woke early, but didn't come for coffee right away. You prepared breakfast and waited for their arrival. When they finally came into the kitchen, looking suspiciously grouchy, you had coffee and pancakes ready on the table and the resolution to address the issue at once. 

"Good morning," you greeted them, unsettled. They weren't usually so bad-tempered in the mornings. They mumbled greetings as well and sat down with matching frowns. Before you could lose your nerve, you went ahead.

"I've been thinking about yesterday, and I think you were right, Sam," you said. "I'm not ready to have Crowley killed yet. Can we keep him in the dungeon for a bit longer?"

Dean huffed a laugh, then went for the whiskey, dosing his coffee liberally. Oh-oh. That wasn't his usual morning routine. Sam ran his hand through his hair. 

"Too late for that." 

That delivery was a bit harsh, even for Winchester standards. You drank from your coffee, burning your tongue and not noticing. The pancakes sat in the middle of the table, forgotten.

"Oh, okay," you said, wondering if there was anything more to be said. That was it, wasn't it? You reached for the whiskey, then, remembering the taste of whiskey, cigars and sulfur, pushed it away again. You supposed you were in shock. You had heard that people in that situation thought about stupid things, like what they were going to cook or if they had bills to pay, but you didn't. You wondered if the whiskey Dean was drinking would have been up to Crowley's standards. Probably not, you thought, since it was Bourbon and younger than you were.

"He's gone," Dean said and refilled his mug, with coffee this time.

You nodded. Apparently it was important to them that you understood.

"Aren't you going to ask how?" Sam asked carefully. "Or did you know already?"

You appeared to be more in shock than you had previously thought. Sam didn't usually ask cruel and unnecessary questions and you couldn't make sense of it. 

"How?" you asked mechanically. 

"It seems," Dean enunciated, "that the asshat somehow scratched through not one, but two devil's traps. I have no idea how he could have done that. That's like the demon equivalent of scratching through an outlet."

Your brain caught up slowly with the text.

"Wait, what?" you asked. "Not dead gone, but gone gone?"

Sam and Dean's heads shot up. "What? What did you think?"

What had you been supposed to think? They had said they wanted to kill him. You wondered if the information about his imminent death you had given to him had spurred him on into breaking the traps. But then you remembered his last words and let your head fall into your hands. 

"I went to see him yesterday. He said to tell you it was nothing I have done. And not to blame myself."

You lifted your head and grimaced. "I thought he was off his rocker, but apparently…"

"...he screwed us over again," Dean finished. 

Relief and anger were battling inside your head. For some selfish reason (Very Bad Sign), you were glad he had escaped, but you couldn't forgive him for everything he had pulled off before, nor for making you think he was going to die. Now that he was safe, the scales in your head were tipping in favor of irritation.

*

After his escape, the calls started. 

Sam had taken Crowley out of your wards so that he wasn't able to zap in whenever he pleased anymore. You had an extra few devil's traps just in your room, to keep you even safer and minimize the temptation for someone to break through the wards.

So, unless you were going out of the bunker – and you hardly went out alone – there were no means for Crowley to reach you other than your phone. Since you were more angry with him than you were curious about what he had to say, you didn't take the calls. First, you just ignored your phone when it rang, then, when he kept on calling daily, ended the calls without taking them. If he had something important to say, he could text you.

During cleaning, you found the bracelet again and went to the library for research on it. Crowley had said it contained his blood, so maybe the Winchesters and you could use it to your advantage. The research on demon's blood yielded that a high dosage of it was toxic upon ingestion or injection, but in low dosages it worked like a supernatural version of cocaine. It led to euphoria, increased vitality and performance, social and sexual disinhibition as well as a smudge of demonic powers. Interesting. Sam had told you about his experiences with demon blood, of course, but you had thought that to anyone not fed as a child, it would be lethal. 

You found out further that summoning a demon was far easier with his blood than without because you already had a part of his body and could summon the rest to it. A lot of books pointed to an old tome called the "Book of the Damned" in which there were supposed to be more, and darker spells that used demon's blood. A quick search in the library revealed that you didn't have the Book of the Damned and considering what the other books had written about it, that was probably for the best. 

Meanwhile, the search for the artifacts yielded nothing. There were no artifacts on the black market, there didn't seem to be more demonic activity than usual and Crowley kept a low profile – except for on your phone.


	13. Chapter 13

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/181884181@N07/48081406687/in/dateposted-public/)


	14. Chapter 14

Panting but relieved, you fell back against the wall. Your aching muscles protested the motion, but you couldn't stand anymore. You dragged up your hand to brush your messy hair out of your eyes and looked to your right. Next to you, Dean was sliding down the wall as well, breathing hard. Sweat was running down the side of his face, but he sent a happy smile your way. You grabbed for his hand, found and squeezed it and shot a smile back. It had been about time as well, after all this fighting. 

Sam had taken his time burning the bones of the ghost that had been haunting the truck repair shop in Callaway, Nebraska. For a simple salt and burn job, you had done quite a lot of cardio, trying to dodge the car parts the ghost had thrown at you. You had narrowly escaped being squashed in a car hoist as well and, while the adrenaline had carried you over the best part of the chase, you were glad the ghost was done for and you could finally sit down. 

The simple but exhausting job put you all in a good mood. It was satisfying to identify a problem and solve it in a few hours' time for once. Dean hummed along to the rock songs on his cassette on the way back home, late in the evening. When your stomach announced with a loud growl that could be heard over the sounds of baby's engine that you hadn't eaten since breakfast, Dean was prompted to turn into a bar you were passing on the way.

Some beers and burgers later, you were no less tired but full and relaxed. Sam used the opportunity to hustle pool and Dean shooed you to the bar to get closer to a small group of giggling women. Rolling your eyes, you let yourself be dragged to an empty stool and slowly drank your beer while you watched Dean quickly become the star of the girls' night out. Soon, he was taken into their circle and pulled to a booth for drinking games, while you waved away their offers to join and stayed gladly on your own. You had had enough excitement in the last two weeks. 

Crowley was still sending you messages, some conciliatory, some downright filthy, describing in detail what he wanted to do to you, and you couldn't help reading them. You never answered, but you knew there would be blue check marks, showing him that you had read them, which seemed to be incentive enough for him to continue.

You took out your phone to check for new messages. There were none and you certainly weren't disappointed. 

"What did he do to deserve the death glare?"

A guy of about Sam's build, you guessed little older than you, slid into the seat next to you. His tied back blond mane and his "I want to fit in the rural crowd" outfit suggested he was one of those hipsters that worked as a field hand in the summer even though they didn't need the money. You supposed he looked good enough, but you weren't interested in even more guy trouble. Although it would serve the king right if you found yourself someone to distract you. A strong, fresh scent of sandalwood and mint accompanied the guy. 

"I'm sorry?" you said, still unsure whether to send him away. 

"Jake," he said, held out his hand and gave you a very white smile when you shook it. 

"Y/n."

"You know, whenever my lil' sis' puts down her phone with a glare like that, I know it's time for the guy to run and run fast. Or, if he wants to come back, come back groveling."

You smiled. Maybe he wasn't such a hipster after all. Jake's grip on your hand had been firm and his shoulders suggested he did quite a lot of manual labor.

"Men are the worst," you said, giving him a cheeky grin and raising your beer to him. 

He chuckled and clinked your bottles. You noticed the cutest dimples appearing on his cheeks. "Can't say there aren't bad specimen among us. So really, what did yours do?"

You sighed. "Made me think he cared for me, then went behind my back to do horrible things he knew I wouldn't approve of."

Jake put his beer on the counter and watched you in curiosity. "That's awfully vague. I had expected an answer like 'Cheated on me with Stephanie'."

You raised your eyebrows. 

He pushed a strand of hair behind his ear. "Not that I think someone would be with Stephanie if they could be with you, of course."

You smiled despite yourself. "Actually, we had never specified whether we were exclusive, so I don't know if there were other girls; there might have been a Stephanie."

Jake kept on just listening and you found yourself prompted to continue talking. It was good to vent to someone who wasn't likely to run off to try and kill the demon, for once. Jake nodded in all the right places, posed questions and refrained from giving advice. If he really had a little sister, she was lucky. 

"...and he hurt someone, really bad." you finished. You couldn't really tell Jake that you had a dungeon and kept people prisoner there, so you left that part and the escape out. 

"Somebody you cared about?" Jake asked, sympathetically. 

You shook your head. "Not really. But he lied to me to keep me away."

"Hmm." Jake ran a hand along his smooth chin. "Has he done that before, hurting people?"

You nodded. "Does that make me a crazy person?"

Jake grinned. "I guess you're not the first girl who's into bad boys. Sounds to me like the guy definitely likes you. But it's the old story – boy meets girl, girl likes boy and vice versa, girl wants to change boy, boy wants to stay the same."

He looked at you with a challenging expression. How dare he point out sensible things? You refrained from sticking out your tongue at him and signaled the waiter for another beer. Jake's bottle was still almost full. 

"If you ask me, I think you should forgive him. Alternatively, you could try the good guys for a change," he wiggled his eyebrows. You smiled. It was a bit strange that he advised you to forgive your last lover, but maybe he had had the feeling that this was what you wanted to hear.

"Speaking of good guys, whats your deal?" you asked. "Other than being a great listener, I mean."

"Ah, I'm just a simple kind of man. I work on my parents' farm and do some software engineering on the side. Sometimes I come for a beer here. I visit my older sis' family on the weekends and play with her kids. That's all."

"Sounds nice," you commented. 

"Boring and domestic, you mean?" he answered, eyes twinkling.

"Reliable and pleasant," you countered.

"Wow, reliable is like the worst judgment ever..." Jake grinned broadly. "I'll have to do something for my image."

You smiled back at him. He was a great conversationalist, teasing you while giving you the good feeling that he liked you. He was good looking as well, seemed reliable (in the best sense of the word), and yet he was here in a bar, all alone, without friends or girlfriend. Something had to be very wrong with him. 

"Want to step out for a smoke?" Jake asked when you had gotten your next bottle of beer. 

"I don't smoke," you answered. 

He looked at you mischievously. "Neither do I."

"All right," you said. So he wasn't quite as boring as he had suggested. You looked for the boys, found Dean still in the booth with the girls, laughing and gesturing wildly, with a piece of paper taped to his forehead and a long line of empty shot glasses before him. 

Sam was still playing pool. He waved to catch your eye as you were standing up and you signed, _back in a few minutes_ to him. Sam gave Jake a once-over and signed back _knife?_. When you nodded and pointed down, he gave you the thumbs up and went on playing. A wave of affection washed over you as you watched him play. Even though you weren't family in blood, the boys always had your back. 

Jake held the door open for you. Walking out, you found that the cool air of the night was a nice contrast to the stuffy atmosphere of the bar. You leaned against the wall, taking a sip of your beer. Jake stepped close to you, shoulder leaning against the wall as well. Up close, there was something familiar about him. You couldn't pinpoint it, but for some reason, you felt safe with him. Of course, the knife strapped to your leg helped with that feeling as well. You set your beer down on a ledge.

"If I were a bad boy, I guess I wouldn't ask if may kiss you," he murmured, moving closer and brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You smiled and turned your face up towards him. "Definitely not."

"I won't, then," he said, slid his arms around you and touched his lips to yours softly. When you moved your lips against his and buried your hand in his hair, his tentative kiss turned more firm and he pulled you flush against him. 

For a moment, everything was perfect. The starry night sky was a beautiful backdrop for a romantic experience. A handsome, gentle lover had his attention focused on you alone. And then your stomach dropped and you realized why he had seemed so familiar, why he had recommended you forgive Crowley – in the moment you tasted sulfur.

You were so shocked, you wrenched out of his grip and delivered a resounding slap on his left cheek. You bent down to get out the knife, but the demon shoved you back to the wall and held you there. His eyes flashed red.

"Back to the scratching, are we, kitten?" the demon said in a smug British accent. You didn't know whether to be more or less afraid, now you were fairly sure who was possessing the poor man.

"Let him go," you gasped, out of breath from the way his hand pressed down on your lungs. "He has nothing to do with this."

Crowley smirked, his expression distorting Jake's gentle face. If his name even was Jake. 

"But you liked him, didn't you?" He stepped closer to you, decreasing the pressure of his hand and sliding it up to your neck. 

"Such a nice face, such a good listener." he mocked. "Oh, and the hair…"

He ran his free hand through it. 

"So why stop now, when you can get what you want? He's interested as well," he tapped against his head. "Just a little terrified of all that's happening, but he stopped screaming about half an hour ago and he's interested in you as well."

Crowley's hand tightened on your neck. He seemed to be in a really bad mood. You fell back against the wall and stopped trying to get away. With his demon strength, he had the upper hand. Since he had isolated you from the Winchesters, there was no help in sight and no point in struggling. You let your hands fall to your sides. 

"Go on, then," you said hoarsely. "Do what you want to do and let me go."

Tears were threatening to fill your eyes. Crowley noticed your expression and immediately let go of your neck, setting his arm against the wall to cut off your escape route. He blinked and his eyes turned back to Jake's. 

"What do you mean?" he demanded. 

You rubbed your neck where he had squeezed. 

"I don't know, you were going on about being interested! Take what you want then, if that's what you're going to do, I sure as hell can't stop you. But then let me go, please." 

You looked away from him and blinked fast to dispel the tears. Crowley turned around to face away from you and let out a loud growl. He turned back to you, slamming his hand back against the wall so hard, he made it crack. Wiping away the tears with your sleeve, you jumped at the sudden, forceful movement.

"Is that what you think of me?" 

He sounded angry and horrified at the same time. 

"Kitten, I'll have you know I've been called a lot of things in my life, but never a rapist."

"You're scaring me right now," you said. "And it's worse with you in his body."

He rolled his eyes and was gone. 

Relieved, you sank down to sit on the floor. In all the excitement, you hadn't even felt your sore muscles. Before you had time to get up and go in, Crowley reappeared, this time in his usual meatsuit. 

"Better now?" he asked gruffly, handing you a piece of cloth that turned out to be a handkerchief. 

You nodded and dabbed at your eyes with the handkerchief. At least he was in his normal body again, with his own mannerisms and his own voice. The discrepancy between Jake's gentle features and Crowley's expressions had been even scarier than the demon in his usual body. Now he looked familiar again and healthier and more powerful than when you had last seen him in the devil's trap in the bunker.

"I didn't mean to frighten you," he said, and you thought you heard a little contrition in his voice, not that he'd admit it.

"Okay," you said carefully. 

Obviously not overjoyed with your answer, he threw his hands up in the air. "When have I ever hurt you, love? And I don't mean in the fun way."

You gestured to your neck.

"Like, right now? Two minutes ago?"

With a snap of his fingers, a gel pack was in his hand. In a respectable distance, he sat down next to you and offered it to you. You held it against your neck, where it cooled the skin. If you were honest with yourself, he hadn't choked you harder than he had when you had had sex, but he had surprised you and in combination with his anger, you hadn't been sure he'd stop before it was too late. 

"Thanks," you said. 

"Are you hurt?" he asked, turning his face towards you, his expression tender. 

"My neck will be okay," you answered, leaving everything else open to interpretation. "Why are you even here?"

He frowned. 

"You didn't return my calls."

You raised your eyebrows.

"Nor did you answer my texts. I'm not used to being ignored."

"So to win me back you possessed a guy, lied to me to convince me to forgive you and when that didn't work, tried to have it off with me without me knowing it was you?"

He shrugged. You knew he was a demon and didn't _care_ what was right, but sometimes it seemed like he didn't even _know_ what was socially acceptable and what wasn't. His moral compass had to be spinning in his grave, only hitting north by chance once in a century.

"Nice right-hander, by the way," Crowley commented, sounding half annoyed, half amused. "You put a good deal of shoulder in it."

You snorted. You weren't even sorry you had slapped the King of Hell. He had deserved it and he probably had little enough pushback when he overstepped other people's boundaries as it was. 

"After our last encounter in the dungeon, I certainly didn't expect such a reaction. I thought you might be _pleasantly_ surprised."

His eyes searched your face. 

"That was a completely different situation," you answered. Trust a man not to get the difference between an honest goodbye-forever kiss and being slipped the tongue in a farce of a flirt.

"I thought you were going to die. I didn't think it was going to be complicated afterwards. Everything else I've told you still stands... I can't be with you under these circumstances."

You were a little proud of yourself. You had delivered your little speech as if you fully believed it yourself. Putting the handkerchief to the side, you prayed for Crowley to leave it be, leave you be and not try to seduce you again. Who knew how often you'd be able to say no until you gave in again.

Crowley was less than impressed with your answer.

"Richardson changed nothing, love. Deals have been running out for centuries. Every week my darling Juliet has been coming home to daddy with a broken body between her teeth and a not yet broken soul to be thrown into the pit. You knew that when you chose to come with me the first time."

You didn't need to hear that, you already knew you were a horrible person for wanting him. And you were aware your reasoning was slightly irrational.

"I never lied to you. The bracelet was for your protection only. I found you today when you didn't have it, didn't I?"

You made a non-committal noise. The warm feeling that was developing in your belly confirmed a little of what he had been insinuating in the bunker. It had been more the personal insult of him going behind your back that had hurt you than the death of one man, as gruesome as it had been.

You jumped as the door of the bar opened. To your relief, it was only a couple, leaving for the night.

"The boys are going to look for me soon," you said, dreading a confrontation between the four of you. You weren't sure which side you'd pick at this moment. "I need to go back in."

Crowley stood and extended his hand to you. Reluctantly, you took it and let him help you up. When you were upright, he didn't let go, but pulled you closer until you were standing directly in front of him. You gave him a stern look.

"Don't trick me again like this. It's _informed_ consent you should be going for, if that's so important to you."

He nodded solemnly, but the corners of his mouth twitched. He bent over your hand, ghosting a kiss upon it, then let go. You started to the door.

"Kitten?" he called before you entered again. You turned back to him, hand on the handle.

"There is no Stephanie, in case you wondered. Nor anyone else."

His smoldering eyes locked with yours again, then he was gone. You knew exactly what it was that bloomed in your stomach at this declaration – a Very Bad Sign.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't progressing as fast as I'd like and I'm aware the smut percentage has shrunk to almost zero. Damn this plot that keeps springing on me. I promise to better myself.
> 
> As always, thanks for the comments and kudos! I love the feedback.


	15. Chapter 15

Coming back into the bar, you waved at Dean, who was wearing a bra over his shirt at this point, and went to find Sam. He was drinking at a table in safe distance from Dean and the giggling girls. Taking the seat next to Sam, you told him an abbreviated version of the events that had just transpired: Crowley had possessed a guy to try and talk to you, wanting to see you. You left out the choking part of the discussion as well as the kissing. There was no need to alarm the boys further and you didn't want to discuss with them why he might have been a little reckless with his hands on your neck.

Sam's reaction showed you that you had downplayed the story enough. He seemed mildly annoyed at Crowley's antics and glad you were okay. After another beer to calm you down, the both of you kidnapped the leader of the giggle pack and gave back the bra to a disappointed girl who looked as if she would have liked to gift Dean her panties as well, sometime that night. Pulling away a pouting Dean, you took off in direction of the bunker. Sam was driving while Dean was laughing at the story of how you slapped the King of Hell. There was no more talk about killing him and for that you were very grateful. 

After a short time, Dean fell asleep and you closed your eyes as well, thinking back to the evening. You hoped Crowley had left Jake somewhere topside. Despite the rough interlude, Crowley had treated you surprisingly decently, considering you had been one of the persons holding him hostage and planning (or at least condoning) his death, and you took it as a sign that he might indeed have a soft spot for you. Knowing how often he had tricked Sam and Dean in the past, you were aware his behavior didn't mean anything. But his comment on there being no one else made your heart warm a little all the same. 

*

After your meeting, the deliveries started. 

The first time someone banged loudly on the door, you were stunned. Never before had a delivery man found his way to the bunker and for good reason – it was supposed to be secret. When you opened the door, gun in hand, a young man with a small package in his trembling hands shifted from foot to foot. He quickly pressed the package into your hands and disappeared into thin air. 

Skeptical, but intrigued, you opened it to find a set of French chocolates and cookies, imprinted with the logo of a chocolaterie on the Avenue des Champs-Élysées. There was no question who had sent them. You set them aside, a little miffed that he thought he could win you back with gifts, but succumbed to the temptation of chocolate only hours later. It was delicious.

A few days later, the same demon was standing in front of the door again, only a little less anxious. Sam opened and called you when the demon in the delivery uniform wouldn't give the package to him.

"Are you Y/n?" the demon asked you nervously. 

When you nodded, he handed it over, and as before, vanished as quickly as he could. Curious, you ripped the wrapping open on your way down the stairs. At first, you thought there had been some mistake in the wrapping since the contents were missing. Then you realized two delicate pieces of black lace between the paper were the contents. Blushing, you quickly shut the package and hid it from Sam's sight, mumbling something about "more chocolate". Crowley was incorrigible. If he thought he would get to see you in _that_ , he was sorely mistaken.

The third time the delivery demon arrived at the door, he seemed almost confident you wouldn't gank him on sight. He carefully handed you a long parcel, insisting that it was for you "personally".

This time, you took it to your room to open in privacy. If Crowley made a point of declaring it personal, it could be anything at all and you didn't want the boys to watch you unpacking – especially if you planned on keeping the naughty contents. 

To your surprise, the package was rather heavy for its size. When pushed to the side, the wrapping tissue revealed a blade somewhere between a dagger and a sword in size. The metal was dull in color and looked really old and worn. All in all, it was a bit disappointing. The knives Crowley had given you before the werewolf hunt were much nicer. Since it wasn't anything as _personal_ as you had feared, you took it to the war room to show to Sam and Dean at dinner. 

It was Sam's turn to cook, which usually meant fresh vegetables or salad and a grumpy Dean. Not today, though. When the sounds of chatting and chopping lured you to the kitchen, Dean was excitedly reading on Sam's laptop while Sam prepared the food. Cas stood next to Dean, looking mildly interested as well.

"Y/n," Dean stopped his reading to greet you. "Where the hell did this come from?"

He held up the sword. 

You deliberated whether to tell them the truth or not. You hadn't exactly hidden the chocolates, but you hadn't told Sam and Dean about the source either and they hadn't asked, probably knowing the answer wouldn't please them. You had a feeling they wouldn't be overjoyed at the idea of you eating anything Crowley sent you. The lingerie you would keep a secret, to your grave. The old sword on the other hand could be seen as a peace offering.

"Hell's a good guess. Crowley sent it to me," you admitted. "He's been sending the chocolates as well as that old thing."

You prepared for another burst of anger à la Dean, but he was inspecting the old blade with a look of reverence. 

Sam looked up from his salad and grinned. 

"That _old thing_ is a very precious artifact. It's Ehud's dagger," Cas informed you.

"It's said to kill anything younger than God," Sam explained. "Which is everything in this world, I guess."

"Everything?" you repeated, incredulous. Cas nodded. 

Oh. There was no reason to be disappointed, then. Crowley had gifted you – you personally – with one of the most valuable biblical artifacts in the world. Something he hadn't even given to the Winchesters when they had him tied up in the dungeon for days. Something that would be dead useful to you and dangerous to him, if Sam and Dean decided again that he was to be killed. It seemed he did care a little.

Dean made elegant, slashing movements through the air with the dagger. 

"Why would Crowley just send it over?" he wondered. "He could have traded it when we had him here."

Sam watched you with raised eyebrows. That Winchester had far too good an intuition. You cleared your throat. "He sent it to me, _personally_ , as a gift."

Dean and Cas raised their heads from the weapon. Dean grimaced. 

"Can't believe I'm saying this, but Crowley thinking with his dick is an improvement."

You rolled your eyes. Trust Dean to put it in the crudest words he could find.

Sam put the salad into a bowl and started to roast some meat. "He's that into you, huh?"

You shrugged, uncomfortable. You didn't want to think about it, but as far as nonverbal messages were concerned, this one shouted "Be my queen" more than "I want you for the night". And wasn't that all kinds of scary.

Dean turned to you and offered you the dagger. You took it carefully in your hands, wary of its weight and value. It took quite some of your strength to raise it with one hand and imitate Dean's movements.

"I'm going to put it in the safe," you decided. "It's too important to lose in a break-in."

When your cell phone vibrated in your jeans, your heart leaped. You laid down the dagger on a table and checked the message. 

  


_Interested in operating instructions?_

  


That man knew how to tempt a girl. Biting your lip, you deliberated answering, a first in a long time. You were curious whether there was information on the dagger you needed and you wanted to know why he had given it to you. Also, it would be appropriate to thank him, because it was proper and would reinforce his good behavior. _Liar_ , your treacherous brain supplied. _You just want to see him._

On the other hand, you knew your own weaknesses pretty well and he was one of them. 

  


_Meet me outside in a few?_ you texted back, against your better judgment.

  


Only seconds later, his answer arrived. 

  


_With pleasure._

  


You picked up the dagger and reluctantly turned to face Sam, Dean and Cas.

"I'm going out for a walk before dinner," you announced. One glance at three suspicious faces revealed you didn't fool anyone. Damn.

"To get instructions for that thing _only_ , not that I need your permission," you said. When Dean stood, you hurried to add, "And I'm going alone. I'm a big girl, I can handle it."

Dean huffed and sat back down while Cas watched you indifferently.

"You sure you'll be okay?" Sam asked, but acquiesced when you nodded.

At least you hoped so.

*

"Hello, kitten," Crowley greeted you, soundlessly appearing at your side. "Delighted to see you."

He did indeed look rather high-spirited with his eyes glittering and his charm turned up to full volume.

"Hi," you answered, trying not to fall for it, but you could feel yourself blushing already. You started to walk towards your usual running trail and Crowley fell into step with you. "How's hell?"

"Hellish, as it should be," Crowley replied, amusement tinging his words. "The little buggers are back in line and papa's happy. How's life with Fred and Barney?"

Ha very ha. "The usual… few hunts at the moment, only a ghost here and there. And I seem to have a secret admirer, who's sending me gifts..."

You watched him smirk and stroke his beard. 

"Do you?" he asked innocently.

You stopped and lifted the dagger. "What's the occasion?"

"Can't a man give a girl a present, just because?" he asked, turning to you and making a face as if you had wounded him greatly by insinuating there had to be a reason for a gift. So he wasn't going to tell you, fine. You could live with that.

"Thank you," you said earnestly, "I know what it is and it's greatly appreciated."

"I should have known the way to a hunter's heart was through a good knife," he sighed exaggeratedly. 

"The chocolate was lovely too," you said, then bit your lip and cursed yourself for leading him on this trail of thought. He picked up on your thinking immediately and latched onto it, giving you a teasing smile. 

"And the-"

"Nope," you cut him off, shaking your head. "Not talking about it."

Absolutely not. You should have sent it back, really. Was it possible to reverse a summoning to banish something to someone specific? 

Eyebrows raised, he shot you an amused look, but didn't press the issue.

"This looks like a regular dagger," you indicated it, leading the conversation back into safe territory. "What kind of instructions do I need, except to stick the bad guys with the pointy end?"

"What do you know about it?" he inquired, all business-like.

You thought back to what the boys had told you. "Sam and Dean say it's really old, like, bible old, and kills anything except God. Whom we don't want to kill, so, kills anything."

Crowley shook his head. "True, but only half the truth. Those buffoons don't appreciate subtlety, do they? Like any sacred artifact, it has a kind of sentience, meaning that it can respond to you."

Stunned, you raised the dagger in both your hands to look at it. It didn't look sentient. 

"Respond how?"

"If I had an artifact ring, for example – and I'm not saying I do – then it could sense when somebody wanted to take it off my finger against my will and become invisible or tighten to prevent that." 

That explained Sam's fruitless body search. Something resonated in the back of your mind. You remembered you had actually read something like this during your research, but had discarded the source as untrustworthy. Crowley watched your reaction. 

"Neat," you said. "But what does the dagger do?"

Crowley took it from your hands. 

"My informed guess is that it might be something similar, something to aid you in battle, but you'll have to find out for yourself as soon as you have claimed it as yours."

You trailed a finger over the blade, trying to sense something, but there wasn't even a little spark of anything.

"How do I claim it as mine?" you said, trying to sound matter of fact. You didn't want to get onto innuendo territory again.

Crowley turned the dagger, so that the blade pointed downwards.

"As usual for the big guy up there, it needs a sacrifice," he said and pointed at a little cross at the top of the pommel. He turned the blade up again and held his hand out. Without a second thought, your took it and allowed him to turn it so your index finger was readily accessible. 

"Blood," you guessed and Crowley nodded. Keeping his eyes on yours, he made a small, superficial cut at the tip of your finger. A few drops of blood welled up and he turned the dagger to press your finger against the engraved cross. You felt the metal heat up for a second, then cool again. When you took off your finger, the cross was clean and gleaming, as if it had absorbed your blood. 

Upon your inspection of the dagger, you had forgotten Crowley was still holding your hand. Bringing your gaze back to his face, you saw him watching your bloody finger in fascination. By the way desire was pooling in his eyes, you could tell he was seriously tempted to lick the blood off. You had heard about his thing with human blood. While according to lore, demon blood affected humans like cocaine, human blood was like ecstasy to demons. While the injection hurt, it generated feelings of love, empathy and peacefulness and according to Sam, Crowley had craved that once. 

The Winchesters had informed you he was over his addiction, but judging by his look, it didn't seem he fully was. His gaze flickered to yours for a moment, assessing you. You realized he was holding himself back, letting you call the shots after the debacle of your last meeting. 

Gently, you took your finger back and put it in your mouth, licking off the blood yourself. The tension of the moment eased a little, but Crowley was fixated on your mouth now.

You removed your finger and cleared your throat. 

Crowley focused on your eyes again and handed you the dagger. 

"Go ahead, try it."

You took it in your hand, wondering what you'd feel, but after waving it around a little, you had to conclude that you didn't feel anything special. Except that the dagger seemed a lot lighter than before. You realized you could move it through the air with far more ease than you could in the bunker's kitchen.

"Do you feel anything?"

You nodded. "It's so light that I can actually use it without problems."

"Would you like to try it in battle?" he asked. 

That was a nice idea, but he was far too powerful for you to even get near him with that thing and you didn't want to kill him by accident either.

"If we meet a non-human adversary on our walk, I will," you joked.

Crowley grinned darkly and snapped his fingers. A small, wispy demon appeared next to him in the grass. 

"My king?" he asked, eyes darting nervously between the two of you.

What the hell was Crowley playing at? Did he just give you the weapon so you would provide your blood for some nefarious plan? For a moment, you were stunned and suspicious. Then you calmed yourself. Crowley had given no indication that he wanted to hurt you and he could have a thousand reasons for calling one of his minions. He could be thirsty or want a sheep for you to test the dagger on, anything was possible. 

"Kill her," Crowley ordered in a bored voice, pointing at you and shattering all your ideas about his motives.

The demon looked at you as if to confirm the order. You stared at him, your blood quickly pumping adrenaline through your veins. Idiot demon, you thought irrationally. What are you waiting for, an invitation from your victim?

The wispy demon raised his hand, but no powers were forthcoming. Grunting, he ran towards you and you sidestepped him swiftly to avoid a full body check. When he turned back, you had the dagger ready and raised it in time to snag his shoulder. Just before you hit him, you felt the blade give a little tug farther to the left, in direction of the demon's heart. The cut hurt him, but didn't hit anything essential.

You were so concentrated, you consciously registered only half the fight. You knew you weren't strong like Dean or Sam, but your reflexes were faster and you could wear out your opponents like that. The demon advanced again, trying to come close enough to hit you or to push you off your feet. You danced right and left and sidestepped him a few times, turning quickly and giving him a shove when he passed you. When he tumbled a little, you saw your chance, raised the dagger and impaled it in between his shoulder blades. As before, the dagger corrected your angle fractionally. A crackle of electricity indicated the demon's death. You pulled out the weapon and let him fall to the ground.

"What the bloody hell was that?" you cursed, looking at Crowley to find him eyeing you with a curious expression. 

"A non-human adversary?" he quipped, tugging at his collar. "Don't worry, he was a troublemaker. I couldn't have used him better."

He was impossible. A little heads-up that this was not an ambush and that he had your back would have been nice. Your pulse took some moments to come down from "mortal danger" to "have a walk with a demon". You took your arm down and let the dagger hang at your side.

"You look magnificent when you kill," Crowley remarked, eyes gleaming. He was one twisted son of a bitch, getting off on a hunter killing his own kind. 

Not wanting to seem really lame, you didn't comment on him springing an enemy on you. Hunter's pride and all that. But you shot him a haughty look when you passed him, walking on on your trail. 

"How does it feel?" he asked, zapping next to you instead of quickening his steps to catch up. 

"Great," you decided. Even carrying the thing was no hardship now, light at it could make itself. "It helps with aiming as well."

Crowley looked satisfied at this declaration. 

"Thank you," you said again, softly, trying to convey that you were grateful for not only the dagger but also the gesture. 

"You know, nothing says 'thank you' like accompanying me to a concert tomorrow at noon," he said innocently, looking at you sideways.

You couldn't help but smile at his persistence. 

"You just don't give up, do you?" you asked, wondering how you were going to tell the boys that you were fraternizing with the enemy again. 

"Never," he answered, an amused smile ghosting over his lips telling you he knew he had won. "Dress for warm weather, we're going to Rome."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What an adversary-summoning asshat. Let's just hope he doesn't disappoint her again!


	16. Chapter 16

_I'm coming along, if you promise to behave. Just a friendly outing to a concert, no funny business._

You sent your message and the answer returned in a second.

_Certainly, kitten. I had nothing but your radiant presence in mind when I asked._

Yeah, right. You could almost see the smirk through the text. Standing in front of your wardrobe, you wondered what to wear to your "friendly outing". For once, you didn't need to worry too much about being able to squat, roll on the floor or kick in your outfit and it made you nervous. The parameters you had to consider today were much less clear. You wanted the outfit to fit the occasion – which you didn't really know, except that it was a concert in Rome and that could be anything between classical music in a concert hall, rock music on a field and jazz in a nice hotel – and you wanted to look good. Good, but not too good, you didn't want to encourage the king's advances. Also, you didn't want to rely on him alone for your safety, there was no break from being a hunter. If the need arose, you wanted to be able to run.

Considering Crowley's usual outfit, you opted for the more glamorous version, the red dress you had gotten in Paris. The jewelry he had given you fit perfectly, and if against all odds you were going to stand in the middle of a crowd at a rock concert, you'd be able to cope. You exchanged the shoes Julien had selected for flats of your own, in which you'd be able to walk better. You pinned up your hair, then realized it looked far too formal and let it down again. Your behavior was ridiculous and you knew it. Unfortunately, there was no one to slap some sense into you and set you straight on your attire, since you had no girlfriends close enough to tell what you were about to do. Dean and Sam weren't really the fashion go-to guys and they were unhappy enough about your date as it was.

You had tried to make them see the profit in befriending Crowley instead of fighting with him all the time, but they had insisted that going on dates was not the way to befriend the demon. They were right, of course. They were men, too, and saw what he was doing, but you weren't stupid either. You knew he didn't only want your presence, that was why you had made him promise to lay off the flirting. And if he tried anything, you knew now that you could get away with slapping him.

Deciding that a red dress, red earrings and red lipstick were too much, you put down the lipstick and started to paint your eyes darker. If your calculations were correct, it was going to be an evening event. Your stomach was fluttering in excitement. You knew you shouldn't, but you were glad you had said yes.

A few minutes before Crowley had said he'd pick you up, you went to look for the boys to say goodbye. You found Sam in his room, reading a book and taking notes. When he looked up, he did a double-take, eyebrows raising almost to his hairline. You smiled and remembered that the Winchesters had never before seen you dress up for an occasion more formal than a bar.

"That's a very nice dress, but why did they make so little of it?" Sam asked dryly. You stuck your tongue out at him. 

"You sure you want to go out like that?" he asked, concern flooding his voice. "Aren't you worried he's gonna…" He waved his arm about, at a loss for words.

"Take what he wants, no matter what I want?" you finished for him, to Sam's visible relief. He nodded. 

"No," you replied. "He isn't like that. At the very most, he might hold me captive to bargain for something he wants. Don't fall for it if he does. He's always been decent to me."

Crowley's reaction to your accusation had surprised you a little. While he hadn't done anything horrible to you before (except go a little hard on the spanking and humiliation), you knew he wasn't like that with other people. He killed and tortured ruthlessly and what was the great moral difference between cutting off people's limbs and raping them? You didn't think there was, but for him, it seemed to be some point of pride. It probably had to do with the deal that condemned him, like he needed to prove to himself that he could get some action for his extra three inches without forcing anybody.

"All right, then," Sam said. "Take care."

"Yes, Dad," you rolled your eyes playfully and smiled. "Where's Dean?"

He hadn't been in his room when you had gone looking for him.

"Supply run," Sam informed you. You nodded.

"Tell him I said bye." 

*

Crowley was already waiting in front of the bunker when you opened the door. He scanned the space behind you, probably worrying that Dean would do the "Dad on prom night" routine. You grinned. 

"Hi. There's no last minute instructions," you reassured him. "They know I can handle myself."

Crowley let his gaze run over you. The spark in his eyes indicated he remembered the dress and the day you bought it.

"You look stunning," he complimented you, holding out his arm for you to take. A little flushed, you thanked him and took the offered arm. You had liked it better when he had hugged you for the zapping, but it was at your own wish that he kept a little distance. 

In a heartbeat, you were standing in the most beautiful square in the world. The sun was just setting behind the row of old, classical buildings and lights from restaurants illuminated the scene. Turning around, you were faced with a beautiful fountain that contained marble statues of gods and goddesses. Water was springing from vases and the statues' mouths and splashing into the basins at their feet.

The air was comfortably cool, but you could feel the cobblestones beneath your feet radiate the warmth they had acquired during the day. From the restaurant closest to you, you heard soft violin music. It seemed Crowley was getting out the big guns of romance.

"Ecco, la Piazza Navona," he introduced. 

"It's beautiful here," you breathed. People were sitting on tables on the Piazza outside the restaurants, eating and drinking wine, chatting and laughing. To your left, people were queuing in front of an ice cream store. You thought you could stay here for some time, if you had to. 

Crowley watched your amazement with an amused expression and raised his arm to direct you towards the ice cream store. 

"You should try the tartufo. There's a bit of a walk to where the concert takes place."

Tartufo turned out to be a wonderful kind of chocolate ice cream. Only after buying it did you realize how much fodder for innuendo and dirty looks you were giving Crowley, licking at the thing. He mostly let you off easily though, not commenting whenever his eyes slid down to your mouth. He pointed out interesting sights on your stroll through the city, apparently very comfortable in the role of the modern cosmopolitan who showed the world to the little girl from the countryside. You humored him, enjoyed yourself immensely and didn't protest when he called you a little shooting star.

When he announced that you had almost arrived, about a quarter of an hour later, you turned a corner and were faced with the most stunning sight you had ever laid eyes upon: you were standing in front of a bridge that was lined left and right by large marble statues of angels. You wondered if Cas had ever been to Rome and had seen the marvelous statues of his brothers and sisters. It was humbling. An almost full moon was hanging over a castle at the end of the bridge. From the top of the castle, another large angel was looking down.

Crowley called it Castel Sant'Angelo, originally built as a mausoleum for a roman emperor and residence of popes. It was strange that it was even named similar to Castiel. You didn't walk in by the front door where long queues were standing, but turned the corner and zapped inside, in a corner next to the entrance.

You got a private guided tour then, with Crowley showing you the castle and telling you little stories that could be true, half-true or full-out lies. In the end it didn't matter if he really had used the stone passage between the castle and the Vatican to get access and make a deal with a pope, once; you were charmed by his tales.

When you heard instruments being tuned, he zapped you directly on a balcony overlooking a courtyard, where the members of a small orchestra were assembling around their instruments. The room behind you was barricaded from the inside and in disarray – it looked as if it were closed for renovations. You had your own little space to watch the concert, it seemed.

It was classical music, as you had expected from the beginning and while you didn't have any experience in that area and didn't usually listen to that genre for fun, you had to admit it was perfect for the atmosphere of a roman night. You didn't know the pieces, but the emotions transferred through the melodies nicely. 

After some time, your feet grew tired and you leaned forwards against the stone banister of the balcony. Under the very flimsy pretense of explaining the program to you, Crowley leaned close to speak in your ear, his hands coming down on either side of you, gripping the banister. The close contact was making shivers run down your spine and you couldn't shake the idea that all it would take to feel his body against yours was to lean back an inch or two. The resolution to keep your distance to him was wavering. Turning your head to the side, you felt his breath on your cheek.

"We had agreed on something," you whispered, trying to stick to your resolution.

"Trust me, I'm trying _very_ hard here not to take any liberties, love," he whispered back dryly.

That was probably true. You couldn't help but notice that the banister was high enough to conceal your hips. No one would know if he were to let his hands wander down, then drag them up your dress, caressing your legs, letting his fingers wander to your most intimate places. No one would be the wiser if he were to shove the fabric to the side, open his own pants…

You shut down that thought before it went on. _Bad Y/n_. It was wrong and you would only get hurt in the end. 

Crowley pulled back one hand from the banister and nudged you a little until you looked at him, then handed you a glass of white wine. With a snap of his fingers, he had a glass of whiskey in his', downed it and refilled the glass with another snap. It seemed someone was a little frustrated. Well, if it was true there was no one else but you, and there wasn't even you at the moment, he would be. Didn't mean you owed him anything.

Throughout the concert, Crowley hovered next to you, within reach, but keeping his hands to himself. By the end, you were a little frustrated yourself. It would have been so much easier if he had tried something, you had let him and slapped him in the end. Unfortunately for the both of you, he behaved like a perfect gentleman, which only turned you on more.

Time was flying and too soon for your taste, the concert was over and people dispersed. You asked Crowley to walk through the streets of Rome some more, wanting to savor the atmosphere and he agreed. He led you to the Vatican, the impressive St. Peter's square and into the Basilica, zapping around to avoid being detected by the Swiss Guards. You wouldn't have believed the respect the demon held for the religious buildings and art and how much he knew about it, but when he spoke of it, you could hear his fondness for the architecture and antiques. 

When you inspected the altar of the Basilica, one of the Swiss Guards suddenly crossed the room, carrying a large, burning torch in his hands. You froze, but Crowley smirked and quickly pulled you down to the floor to hide behind the altar. Somehow, in your haste, you landed half in his lap and he had to hold on to you, so you wouldn't fall to the floor and alert the guard. Logically, you knew you didn't have to hide; Crowley could zap you out any moment, but the bastard probably wouldn't, just to see what he could get away with. 

Your heart was beating fast with the fear of being detected by the guard walking past only a few feet away and the demon's proximity. You could smell his familiar scent, going straight to the memory center in your brain, reminding you of the times you had been close to him before. Crowley held on to you fast and raised a finger to your lips to shush you when two more guards appeared from different directions with torches, helping the first one light candles.

Turning your head to the side, your eyes met Crowley's, glinting in the scarce light of the torch close to you. Smirking, illuminated by the flickering oranges and reds from the candle, he looked like a devil and you felt your resolve weakening. It was funny that your resolutions all seemed to turn to dust in the most holy place of them all. You couldn't prevent your eyes from flickering down to his lips, nor your hips from tilting back so you'd slide into his lap instead of away to the floor. It seemed to be enough of an invitation to the demon to pull you closer and brush his lips softly against yours. 

This part was always simple between you, intuitive and familiar, yet exciting and foreign at the same time. Despite your good intentions, you opened your lips for him, kissing him back, tasting the whiskey he had drunk earlier on his tongue. It went downhill from there, with your hands coming up to lie around his neck and pulling him closer and his arms enveloping you as well. You forgot to be silent then. From afar, drowned out by the feeling of finally kissing him again, you could hear someone shouting, then not shouting any more. Pulling your face away suddenly, you looked for the source, hoping that Crowley hadn't just exploded the poor young man, and found you were back at the square you had been at the beginning, sitting at the foot of one of the beautiful fountains. 

You scrambled up, straightening your dress and your hair. Crowley got up lazily, smiling like the cat that had got the cream. 

"Dammit, Crowley," you sighed, actually more annoyed with yourself. 

He walked up to you and slid his arm around your waist, pulling you towards the fountain to sit. Tipping your head up, so you'd look at him, he raised his eyebrows.

"Tell me. Why?"

Puzzled, you looked at him to continue. He sighed. 

"Why do you deny yourself this, when you so clearly want it?" he asked quizzically. "I can hear your heart beat and see your pupils dilate, don't tell me you don't."

"Because it's not right," you answered. "Because I can't trust you. And I can't do enemies with benefits, I'll just get hurt again in the end." 

Miserable, you realized where your words were leading. The boys had been right, it had been stupid to come along and act as if you didn't know exactly what was going on. You couldn't just annul the attraction that was burning between you and because of that, you'd never be able to be friends or friendly acquaintances. 

"I never wanted to lead you on, trust or no trust," you said quietly.

Crowley took hold of your hand and kissed it. "Kitten, I'm the King of Rotten. You'll have to try harder to hurt me."

Well, you were going to, it seemed. Although it would probably hurt you more, at first. You gripped his hand and looked into his eyes to make sure he realized you were serious.

"I can't see you again," you said. "I clearly can't be trusted around you."

"Then what makes you think you'll be able to keep away from me in the future?" Crowley asked, a little amused. 

"You," you answered without missing a beat. Playing dirty was your only chance now. "If you care about me at all, you'll help me and stay away."

That shut him up nicely. 

"Please," you pleaded. "Do this for me."

His face fell and you saw his expression grow slowly into the fake cold-hearted demon smile he usually showed the Winchesters while he was thinking about your words. Carefully, he set down your hand in your lap. 

"I have to hand it to you, that is a better try. But I'm sure I will be able to manage, somehow, if that is your wish," Crowley infused his words with a dark sarcasm that had your heart going fast. You needed him to like you, wanted him to look fondly at you, even it was from a distance, but it seemed you had lost that privilege.

His smile twisted into a snarl, eyes icy and calculating on yours.

You regretted having to end it all, but you honestly thought it was necessary. You couldn't trust that Crowley had your best interests in mind, doubted that his mangled demon soul could really love at all and you weren't going to risk your life like that. The most beautiful places he took you to and the most precious gifts couldn't change that. You were neither risking yourself, nor Sam and Dean.

"I'm sorry," you said quietly, hoping that he would feel you really were.

"Don't be," Crowley said, sounding so disinterested your heart fell. "You get what you want. I should take you back to your heroes now."

He stood and waited for you to stand up as well. Hesitantly, you hovered and waited for him to extend his hand to you. The evening was obviously over. Without touching you, he snapped his fingers and you were back in front of the bunker, alone.


	17. Chapter 17

He hadn't even said goodbye. You couldn't let that thought go when you went back inside the bunker. He hadn't even said goodbye to you and you hadn't been able to say goodbye to him either. He hadn't touched you again, had looked as if he didn't care anymore at all. Maybe it had all been a great staging just to get you back into his bed. It would have meant a lot of effort just for a fuck, but maybe he had a hunter kink and wanted to invest. Whatever, you had ended it, you would stick to your decision and stop thinking about him. _Right._

"Hey there," Sam shouted from the library when he heard you approach. "Back so soon?"

It was all you could do not to break into tears. When you were close enough to see him and say hello back, Sam assessed your expression and knit his brows.

"What's wrong?" He stood, ready to take action. "What did he do?"

"Nothing," you said, trying to keep your voice even. "I did; call it off, that is. You were right, I can't be friendly with him."

Sam searched your eyes. "Why, all of a sudden?"

You shrugged and blinked a few times, trying to keep your shit together. You couldn't even say why now exactly, just that you had realized what you wished for wouldn't happen. Sam watched you in compassion and worry. 

"Oh kid," he said and pulled you into a hug of huge warm arms, flannel, male sweat and tea. It was a comfortably familiar smell. "Did you forget rule number one?"

"Yes," you mumbled into his shirt, incomprehensibly. You were reasonably sure that rule number one was not to fall in love. 

Sam was kind and just held on to you (as you had taught him), sparing you any moral judgment as well as unwanted advice. Maybe he had an idea of how you were feeling, considering the Ruby affair. 

Smoothing a big hand over your hair, he leaned back to look at your face. "Movie night?"

You pulled your sleeve over your hand and wiped at the tears silently running down your cheeks. Pulling Sam back in, you hugged him tightly for a moment, then let go. 

"No thanks," you said. "Maybe tomorrow. I think I need some time alone first."

Walking to your room, you avoided the sounds of other voices. You couldn't face Dean right now. Even though you were sure he cared for you just as much as Sam did, he was often quicker to talk than to think and you couldn't bear to hear "I told you so" right now.

You toed off your shoes and carefully put the dress on a hanger, then threw on your pajamas and lay down on the bed. Your earrings were clutched tightly in your hands, your chest heaving in your silent sobs. Rationally, you knew your decision was better in the long run, but right now you couldn't stop this feeling, like having your heart ripped out and left alone in the cold and dark.

*

There were no messages and no calls anymore. You checked your phone a few times a day, but there was nothing. You had gotten used and looked forwards to Crowley's messages, even if you hadn't thought it wise to answer. Now, the complete lack of any signs of life was bugging you. You didn't miss the attention – you weren't the kind of girl who was waiting on a guy to approach her so she could turn him down. But before Rome you had known that Crowley and you were cool, even if there was nothing between you anymore. This complete radio silence felt like a punishment – far too harsh a punishment, even in comparison to what you had been subjected to by him before. 

A few times, you were so tempted to call him, just to hear his voice, that you tried to think about silly reasons for doing so. But there was no favor the Winchester needed for a hunt. It was just as well, as you had the inkling that hearing his business tone of voice, devoid of all the affection and charm he had shown for you before, would probably not help you. A few short messages to him, imprudently written in the dead of night, were erased again before being sent off. You had new rules and you were going to abide by them, even if it was hard sometimes.

Hell was suspiciously silent as well. There were no signs of demon activity at all and it was hard to find a case that was more than a regular salt and burn. Sam and Dean sensed you needed something to distract you from everything that had happened and tried very hard to find something that might be a case of supernatural activity. 

They tried so hard to find anything at all that you went on a mission to find a lost cat, which hadn't been eaten by a monster, as the young owner had claimed, but been run over by a car. You solved a regular human murder case, which was extremely disturbing but very natural. If you never saw ground human meat again, it would be too soon. One case was finding a hairy black monster that had killed one person and injured two more in a city. It turned out to be an ape that had escaped from its zoo. One witch, at least, had been a real witch who had hurt people, stayed noncompliant and been subjected a well-aimed witch-killing bullet.

In the absence of more real hunts, you did research. Lore didn't have to say much about your dagger, but the little there was, you read. It was supposed to help in battle, as you had been told ( _by him, don't think about him_ ) and there were references that it would "guide Ehud's hand", as it had done for you, as well as "strengthen his flourish", which could mean that it would seem lighter to you, but sounded more as if it would be easier to cut into the enemy. You hadn't felt that, but you'd find it out. Apart from that, there was not much more information that was useful to you concerning the dagger, so you stopped your daily research sessions again. You didn't like doing research for its own sake – you never remembered much of it unless you knew you would need it soon. 

The days dragged on and on and you were glad for every little ghost that made its presence known so you had something to do.

Sam was knee deep into research about angels half of the time, finding out as much as he could to help Team Free Will in a possible future battle against angels. Dean and Cas had taken to sparring practice, a hobby which made Sam and you smile. As much as Dean insisted he was into girls only, he often found excuses to be very close to the angel. It was all very puzzling for you and you couldn't even imagine how Cas had to feel about it. 

A few days passed, then a few weeks. The radio silence persisted and after a month, you had almost adjusted to it. Then, one day, there came the opening you had been looking for. A wealthy woman in Iowa had allegedly been attacked by something invisible and torn to shreds, at least that was what her husband told the police when he was taken in for questioning. Sam found out that the husband profited nicely from her death in terms of life insurance money. But that didn't necessarily mean it had been him. Maybe there had been a deal, ten years prior to her death, and it had been Juliet or one of her siblings coming to collect. 

Both Winchesters knew what the next step was, but didn't dare acknowledge it next to you, even though you had just set a new record by not crying in public – that was, outside your room – for seven days. Obviously, you were cool with mentioning him again. But Sam and Dean only exchanged knowing glances and didn't bring up public enemy number one. You quickly counted your options and found that you didn't want to be the one calling him. You were afraid you'd get hurt by a snappish reply and also, it wouldn't be fair to ask him to stay away and then call for information the Winchesters could easily request. 

"Go on," you urged Dean, resignedly. "Call him already, it'll be over sooner."

Relieved, but still skeptical, Dean dug out his phone and typed in the three digits. He got up and walked up and down while he waited for Crowley to take the call. It was stupid, but you wished for him to sit down again so you'd at least hear Crowley's voice. A few seconds later, you found out it wasn't necessary, since Crowley's voice carried across the room clearly. 

"Squirrel, how very nice to hear from you. What scrape did you get yourself into this time?"

"Cut the crap, Crowley. Just calling to ask if one of your mutts was visiting Iowa City yesterday," Dean answered gruffly. 

"Not that I know of, and I would know of it. Glad to be of service. Now, if there's nothing else, I'm kind of in the middle of something and I'd rather not let the lady wait…Ta, boys."

Dean opened his mouth to say something else, then realized Crowley had already hung up. Furious, he snapped his phone shut.

"Well, we don't have to get involved, at least," you said glumly, trying to stay focused on the case. 

You wouldn't think about him being in the middle of something with a lady, nope, you would not. Besides, it could be anything between a good torturing and a deal for a soul. It didn't necessarily mean he was _with_ someone else. And even if he was, it was none of your business anymore and shouldn't hurt you at all. 

All the same, the record could not be extended to an eighth day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be smut only, but now we're on chapter 17 and plot and heartbreak keep sneaking in - sorry! :D I'll try to better myself.   
> We're steering towards the end of this story, now, so a shoutout and thank you to all the people giving me love and keeping me going here!


	18. Chapter 18

The next morning, you made yourself a big cup of coffee and started to clean, needing to do _something_ to keep busy. It was your turn to clean anyways. The war room was quickly spotless. The kitchen took a bit more of elbow grease, but you usually didn't cook very elaborate meals, so within an hour and a half, you were finished as well. Last, you targeted your own room. When you cleared your table of the stuff you had carelessly thrown upon it in the last weeks and burrowed through layers of clothes, food wrappers, weapons and books, something red glinted at you from the back. You pushed all the other things aside and discovered Crowley's bracelet. Stopping your cleaning spree for a moment, you sat on the bed and let the delicate silver chain run through your fingers. 

Over the fear of Crowley being on the death row, you had forgotten about it, the day he had taken it off. The blood under the glass was still gleaming brilliantly red. It was beautifully crafted and you liked that he had incorporated something of his, even if it had been for his own benefit, to detect where you were. For a gift so personal, he had had to make a little sacrifice of his own blood. A sacrifice like you had made on your dagger. You wrapped the chain around your wrist, thinking about what he had said about Ehud's dagger – to make it your own, you had to make a sacrifice and it needed to be blood. 

Was that was he had been thinking when he gave the bracelet to you, him making a sacrifice to make you his own? The limited removal possibilities were an indication that maybe you had read too little into it, treating it as a nice gift only. You strongly hoped you hadn't been engaged and broken off an engagement without knowing it.

Steps in the corridor alerted you to one of the boys approaching. Quickly, you shoved the bracelet into the pocket of your jeans. You didn't want Sam and Dean to think that you were sitting on your bed and crying about your little crush daily.

There was a short knock and Dean stuck his head in by the door. 

"We've got a problem."

*

"So, get this, there's two more deaths at the university where that werewolf kid was," Sam said, leaning forwards on the table in the war room to reach his laptop.

He turned it over to you and you read the headline of the newspaper article: _Denver, CO: Teacher and security guard at university found dead, bodies mangled_ , today's date. 

"We missed one?" you asked and Dean nodded grimly.

"We missed one," he confirmed. "Damn it. He must have been quick to infect others."

You thought back to the wimpy kid. "His girlfriend was way out his league, maybe he thought he could tie her to himself like this."

"Well, this time we have to get all of them," Dean grumbled. 

"Where's Cas?" you asked. More manpower was always good where werewolves were concerned. The added danger of getting infected made you antsy around them. Even though you didn't want to die, the idea of being killed on a hunt was bearable to you, it was an unavoidable risk of being a hunter. Being infected and turning into a monster on the other hand was a horrifying prospect.

"Out to check on Kevin," Sam said with regret. "He won't be back in time. We should get there, in case they transform again this night."

Again, the werewolf killings left you little to no preparation time and within a few minutes, you were all sitting in baby, back on the I-70 to Denver. You were armed with two guns with silver bullets and the three silver knives Crowley had brought. Ehud's dagger was lying at home, in the safe. Since you knew how to kill werewolves, you didn't see the added benefit of it and you didn't want to risk it falling into the wrong hands. 

Dean drove again while Sam pulled student files out of the university database and researched the social media accounts of the students in the dorms. Wimpy kid's girlfriend seemed to be the star of every party.

"Irene sure is friendly," Sam commented on the tenth picture of her with a guy at a party. 

"So?" you prompted, not wanting to hear any chauvinist crap about how it wasn't right for a girl to have so many flings with boys. Sam didn't mind your tone. 

"Well, if she's the one infected, we don't want her all close and snuggly with as many guys as she can find."

You nodded, he had a point.

"Some of the pictures have been taken really early after Chris' death," Sam added. "Strange."

It was. You hoped the girl – if it was her – hadn't turned any of those guys on the photos yet, but you were aware that it was common for werewolves to look for a pack and, if they didn't find one, found one of their own because they felt lonely.

"Let's just hope she kept those choppers to herself," Dean concluded and stepped on the gas, driving towards the sinking sun.

*

The morgue came first. The three of you sneaked in by an open window, looked for the victims and assessed their wounds. Both hearts as well as a few more chunks of flesh were missing on both bodies. Sam showed you how to compare the imprints of teeth at the edges of the wounds. There were at least two different sets of teeth involved and the many imprints in combination with few deep wounds indicated a freshly turned werewolf who was still clumsy. Damn.

You decided unanimously to go straight to the dorm and take out the werewolf, then to come back the next day with silver objects to check for others. You remembered the dorms from the last time you were here and asked for Chris' girlfriend. The girls in the dorm were friendly, pointed you to her room and informed you on her strange sleeping habits. Needing sleep during the day because she was out by night was neither a crime nor unusual for college students, but it seemed even her fellows had noticed something was wrong. After gossiping a bit, the girls dispersed and left you standing in front of Irene's room with the boys.

Exchanging a look, all three of you took out your weapons. Sam and Dean were operating the guns, you backed them up with Crowley's knife. Leaning your ear on the door, you tried to get any information on what would expect you inside. You heard loud snoring that seemed to come from several sleepers, but you couldn't determine how many people were in there. The boys raised their guns and waved you away from the door. Sam checked the handle, but the door was locked. Stepping back, Dean started towards the door and kicked it in. 

Since the light from the corridor didn't fall far and the blinds on the windows were almost fully closed to the moonlight, you had to squint to see something.

Two beds had been shoved together and you could make out the outlines of at least two large, naked bodies lying across them. With the opening of the door, the snores stopped and you heard someone mumbling, "What the-". At the same time, you heard a small cry behind you. Turning around, you found Irene standing behind you, unkempt and in her pajamas. 

"Hunters," a raspy voice from inside the room snarled and several shapes rose from the bed at the same time as Irene took off behind you. 

"I've got her," you shouted and ran after her as she tried to get away. You saw the boys enter the dorm room and heard the door close with a thud, then your chase took you away, to the stairs and you concentrated on following Irene. She climbed the stairs fast, running up one flight after another. You had to hurry to keep up. When she reached the exit to the rooftop, she kicked the door open and rushed outside.

You took a moment to catch your breath, pulled your knife out of the holster and dashed after her. The rooftop consisted of a large, empty square and you wondered for a second why Irene had taken this path. A moment later, you spotted the full moon hanging directly above you and cursed yourself for letting her out here. Irene was transforming in front of you, body hunched over and hands balled into fists. You only saw her back, but you knew there would be teeth now, teeth you'd have to watch out for.

Gripping the knife tightly, you took a few steps to the side. You had to suppress a nervous giggle at the mortal danger that stood in front of you in little duckie pajamas, but that urge was quickly squashed when you saw her her cold, wolfish eyes and her drawn back lips, revealing long teeth that were dripping saliva. 

Irene was growling and snarling and left you no time to devise a plan before she charged at you. You aimed your knife and prepared for holding it steady when it cut into her, but she swerved to the side at the last moment and sprinted around you, cutting you off from the escape route.

You hoped Sam and Dean would finish the other werewolves soon and come back you up with their bullets. Getting close enough to Irene to kill her without being hurt seemed damn near impossible to you. There was no other plan either, even if you managed to get back inside, she was far too strong to be locked out here, and you didn't know if there were fire escape stairs – she could be long gone by the time you and your back up would have the building surrounded.

Irene charged again, eyes fixed on your weapon. You didn't run from her, but dodged her enough not to be hit with the full force of her body. Sticking your foot out just a bit, you managed to trip her, but your victory was short-lived when, falling, she held onto your arm, dragged her claws into your skin and ripped the knife from your grip. It fell to the floor, clattering. At least the silver prevented her from using it against you. 

Looking for the escape route, you wondered if you could make it to the door in time. While you were still deciding if the slim chance of success was worth trying, the door opened. Relieved, you expected one of the boys, finished with the werewolves downstairs, to appear. 

But the guy in the doorway neither had Dean's nor Sam's build and when he stepped out into the moonlight, you realized it had to be one of the werewolves that had escaped. He was naked. His teeth shone in the moonlight and you saw he had transformed as well. Before you could dive for your knife, your only chance of survival now, the two werewolves started towards you and you turned and ran. 

The rooftop was large, but you were approaching the edge faster than you would have liked. Panic made you fast and oblivious to the dripping wound on your arm. Hectically, you crammed your hands into the pockets of your jacket, searching for something, anything you could throw into their faces to generate a moment of surprise and gain a second for your escape. But your pockets were empty.

You could feel the werewolves gaining on you. If Sam and Dean didn't arrive any time soon, you'd have to jump off the building. Running up, you hadn't counted the stories, but the height you were on now suggested there wasn't a great chance of survival. But you weren't going to let the werewolves turn you or tear you apart, so a painless fall and unconsciousness before impact was the best you could hope for.

Finally, one of your hands closed around something in your jeans pocket – the bracelet. You were pretty sure the chain was made of silver and the werewolves' keen senses might be distracted by the demon blood inside.

Your heart was drumming fast in your chest and you could hardly breathe anymore. Almost having arrived at the edge of the building, you slowed down and swerved to the side to assess the werewolves' location. They had slowed down as well and were quickly walking towards you, one from each side, with matching predatory expressions. 

Facing them, you walked backwards towards the edge. The ten feet of building left behind you turned to five feet, then to three. You felt your brain shut down and your hands shake uncontrollably from the panic. You realized that throwing the bracelet wouldn't even buy you a single moment. Even if it distracted one of them, there was still another werewolf coming at you and you had no chance of overpowering them without a weapon. 

Still, the door at the other end of the rooftop didn't open, and by now, it was too late anyways. Both Winchesters were good shots, but the wolves were too close already and you had to act now. 

A startled gasp broke free from your throat when the back of your legs hit the steel banister at the edge of the roof. Time to choose between a horrible fate or certain death. The choice was easy, but following through would be hard. It was regrettable that you would not be able to say goodbye, neither to the boys, nor to...anyone else.

You closed your eyes to gather courage for the jump over the ledge. Gripping the bracelet tightly in your left, you set your right hand on the banister and stepped up. It was time.


	19. Chapter 19

The werewolves' discontented growling made you open your eyes again. A small sound like the turning of a page passed your ear, but you didn't see anything. Focusing on the danger at hand, you found that the wolves had stopped, for some reason, and were snarling and watching their feet in dismay. It seemed they were rooted to the spot by some kind of spell, only a few feet away from you.

Looking around, you didn't spot a reason for their predicament, but judging by the gnashing of their sharp teeth, they weren't waiting for you to flee of their own accord.

You took your hand off the banister, stepped down again and shifted to the side, knees shaking. You didn't trust the spell to hold long enough for you to pass them and get to your knife, but still, you had to take your chance.

Before you had time to move, your knife clattered to the floor beside you, summoned by an invisible force. When you had picked it up and stood again, you caught a small, eerie sound, like a quiet wailing. 

Straining your ears to hear it better, you found that it came from the wolves. It grew, first into louder moaning, then into screams of terror as the wolves' faces distorted in pain. Their chests broke open, blood darkening Irene's pajamas, then spilling in great spurts from both of them, while their hearts were pulled out simultaneously, like by two invisible hands. 

You jumped to the side to avoid being drenched in their blood. With the open wound on your arm, you didn't dare take any risks. The agonized cries peaked, then, after the hearts had been torn out cleanly and cast to the side, stopped as if they had been turned off. The wolves' heads hung limply onto their shoulders and you doubted there was enough consciousness left in them to realize what was happening. All the same, the sight of their limbs being torn from their lifeless bodies was gruesome.

When the blood flow had subsided, you raised your knife and cut off first Irene's head from her torso, then that of her friend. They both fell to the ground. The beheading was probably overkill, but it didn't hurt and you needed to make sure they were very dead. This time, there was no room for mistakes. Enough people had been turned already.

The knife glided through their necks easily and you wondered what powers it held to make it work so well for you, flying to you on its own and strengthening your blow.

With the werewolves' heads rolling on the floor and your knife clutched tightly in your hand, you made a full turn to look at the far corners of the rooftop. You didn't spot anyone. 

"Who's there? Show yourself," you called, without any real hope, and nobody did. 

Worrying about Sam and Dean, you quickly headed back to the staircase. What could have happened that they let one wolf get away? Had they let him escape to focus on the spell? But you didn't have any spell prepared… Hastily, you tore open the door and very nearly stabbed a surprised Dean you came face to face with. 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa…" Dean called and raised his hands to show he was unarmed, "Slow down, lady."

"You okay, Y/n?" Sam called from the back. They were both drenched in blood and Sam limped a little, but otherwise, they seemed okay. You stepped aside to let them out and let the door fall closed behind them. 

"She's dead and so is her friend," you waved your arm at the pile of flesh behind you. "The others?"

Dean's bloody face turned into a grim smile. "Three dead for good. The last one disintegrated by himself, for some reason. We locked the door on the way out, so we should have some time."

"Three?" you asked, incredulous. Damn, that girl had been active, turning four guys in one month. Sam nodded, lifted his hand as if to run it through his hair, then, looking at the gore on it, let if fall to his side again and wiped it on his bloody jeans. Dean walked towards the pile of werewolf and you followed, Sam in tow. Disintegrated by himself sounded like a similar fate to your werewolves'.

"What the hell happened here?" Dean asked, apparently impressed. For a moment you were tempted to let him think it had been you. He wouldn't be able to sleep for a week, thinking about how you could have managed this massacre on your own. But you wanted to know how it had happened as well, so you spilled. 

"No idea...they had me cornered already. I thought I wouldn't pull through…"

"Shit," Sam cursed, letting his worried gaze trail down your body to your cuts.

"Then they suddenly stopped, as if hit with a spell," you continued.

Dean prodded one of the torsos with his foot. "Some spell," he said with appreciation.

You sheathed your knife. "In the end they just tore apart of their own. It wasn't you?" you asked, looking at Sam. Both Sam and Dean shook their heads and turned. You walked back to the stairs together. 

"Who was it, then?" you wondered.

"We've got our phones on us, in theory anyone who has our numbers could trace us. But who'd help us and not show?" Sam asked. Because you were slow sometimes, you didn't catch his drift at first. Normally, it was just you and the Winchesters on a hunt, occasionally with Cas, but there was no back up. Who'd take enough of an interest to track you and secretly help?

"And who can turn invisible?" Sam pressed on, giving you a meaningful look. 

Oh. Of course. _Him_. He had said he could feel your pulse when you clutched the bracelet. You guessed your heart had beat a little, when you had thought you were about to die. Maybe he had sensed that and come to your rescue. Something warm was blooming in your stomach and you deliberately stopped that train of thought. It didn't mean it _had been_ him. You'd be disappointed as hell if you hoped for Crowley to be your savior and found out later that it had been some other hunter or Cas helping you from afar.

Arriving in front of the exit, the three of you stopped. Dean caught on. "Crowley? But why wouldn't he show himself?"

"I told him to stay away from me," you explained. "But I only meant not to ask me out again, not to hide while saving me, obviously."

Dean looked skeptical. "And he still shows up as the rescue party? Why would he?"

Sam had crossed his arms and looked at you with a small smile. "Three guesses why."

You felt your cheeks heat up. " _No_ , Sam. He's not interested anymore. You heard him on the phone, he was 'in the middle of something' with a lady. You should have seen how he looked at me before he took me home."

"That why he's keeping away, like you asked?" Dean, the dirty traitor, asked, eyebrows raised. It seemed the boys were conspiring to get your hopes up. They shared a look. 

Yet they were right, Crowley had respected your wish. In fact, except for that little kiss, he'd stuck perfectly to what you told him to do before, and even that kiss hadn't been wholly without your initiative. And if he was still looking out for you and the boys now, when he had nothing to gain from it, without even showing himself, you had seriously misjudged him. Whatever he felt for you, it wasn't nothing. 

The events of the hunt caught up with you then. Shivering, you came to terms with the danger you had just been in. Your head was reeling, your hands trembling as you felt the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. You could have died today, or worse. Irene was looking for a pack and could easily have turned you, had the King of Hell not saved you. 

You followed the boys back downstairs, wondering what to do with your newfound knowledge. On impulse, you took out your phone and dialed Crowley's number. It rang twice, then he ended the call. Damn the bastard for doing what you had asked him to. 

*

For the cleanup, you and the boys split up. Dean burned the bodies on the rooftop and Sam double-checked the door on the dorm room so nobody would discover the bodies in there before you were safely home. You had drawn the short straw and, after wrapping your arm, had to give the student girls the talk. 

You put on your bracelet and ushered as many girls as you could find into one dorm room, making sure to brush everyone's skin as they passed you in the doorway. You were all for empowerment, so you didn't mind explaining to the baffled group what had transpired this evening. None of them fainted – which wasn't a first, but didn't happen as often as you liked – but a few seemed a bit green about the gills after your summary of werewolf 101. Some seemed to be impressed by you and your dashing companions and wanted to hear more hunting stories. Two of the girls at least looked unfazed and practical enough to be trusted with checking everyone on campus with items made of silver to make very sure there was no werewolf left. You left unfazed girl no. one your phone number and pointedly ignored green gills no. one and two, who asked if they could borrow your bracelet for checking. As if you'd ever give that away.

With what seemed like the last of his energy, Dean drove you back to the bunker and you took turns drinking from the healing cup. The gashes on your arm closed and Sam's limp disappeared within a moment. Dirty, bloody and tired, you then fell into your respective beds.

*

When you woke again, it was noon. Groaning, you rose and inspected your body. Your muscles ached from the exertion and you felt quite a few places that would have sported bruises without the cup, but apart from that, you were fine.

Judging by the amount of hot water there was, you weren't the last one to shower. You took your time, enjoying the hot spray on your sore muscles. You washed your hair and body with copious amounts of soap to get off the grime, then repeated the process just to relax.

All the while, you thought back to the day before. You couldn't forget your strange rescue and needed to know if it really was him and what it meant. The boys were probably right. You were such an idiot. The signs that Crowley cared for you had been there all the time, if you knew how to read him. You bet he didn't hand out parts of his body to anyone, nor holy artifacts that would be dead useful to him. He did what you asked of him, behaved like a gentleman, kept away from you like you had begged him to and still was there for you and the Winchesters when you needed him – even after the boys had planned on killing him and you hadn't really protested. For a soulless creature that was some pretty decent wooing.

You finally stepped out of the shower, only a little sorry for using up all the hot water. They boys would be able to deal. You dragged your tired body to your room and dressed in comfortable clothes, having no intention of leaving the bunker today. Sitting on your bed and playing with the bracelet, you thought long and hard about what you were you going to do now.

*

You didn't have to wait for long until the boys arrived in the kitchen. Sam came in from outside in his workout clothes; the madman had gone for a run already. Dean dragged himself from his room to the kitchen soon after, bleary-eyed, looking like you felt. You had made a big pot of coffee and lured Sam and Dean to the table with it. Sam had brought donuts from his run and he and Dean dug in. When the boys had finished their first cup of coffee each and the third donut was quickly making its way into Dean's mouth – the corners of which were turning up considerably – you thought it safe to talk. 

"So guys," you started nervously. Your eyes were firmly focused on the sugar that had spilled from the donut box onto the table. Brushing it from side to side, you prepared to say everything you had planned in one fell swoop, before you lost your nerve again.

"You know I love you, right? And I know you care for me as well. I'd never do anything to hurt you, but there's something I have to try and if it all goes to – well, hell – I need to know you're safe and not putting yourselves into danger for me."

Feeling a flush creeping up your neck, you realized you had actually just talked around the topic and not said what you wanted. Now you had lost your momentum and since you were afraid of how the Winchesters would react, you didn't really _want_ to make clear what you planned. But you had to and they probably knew already.

"I know it's stupid, and I don't know if he even wants to see me anymore," you added, closing in on the heart of the subject. "But I have to give it a shot if he does. Please don't hate me."

You didn't dare look up for fear of the judging looks on Sam and Dean's faces. The lack of questions indicated they knew exactly who and what you were talking about and for the first time since you had joined them, you were afraid they'd be disappointed in you and kick you out.

The seconds dragged on in silence. Finally, someone was shifting and you heard Sam clear his throat. Slowly, you looked up to see him making a "gimme" motion at Dean, who reluctantly reached into his pants and slid over a few dollar notes. Sam grinned gleefully at him and grabbed them.

Your jaw dropped. They had _bet_ on you? You huffed indignantly, but a feeling of relief was flooding your belly, unclenching the insides that had been twisted with worry. You fell back on your chair and grabbed a donut. If they had bet on you and Sam could grin about it, it couldn't be too much resentment they were holding for you or your decision.

"Damn it, I was counting on you, Y/n," Dean grumbled while Sam took his sweet time counting the money and putting it in his pocket.

"You're not mad at me?" you asked, hardly believing that there were no Winchester bitchfaces and no big intervention waiting for you.

Dean shrugged. "Sure we are, it's madness. But you're a big girl. Make your mistakes."

"We're going to kill him if he steps out of line," Sam said cheerfully.

You smiled. The boys had your back and that, you could live with.

*

Since Crowley steadily refused to answer your calls, either not picking up or even ending the calls, you had to try a different approach and tried texting.

_Thank you for saving us._  
  
666: _I've got absolutely no idea what you're talking about._  
  
_Can I see you? Just to talk?_  
  
666: _I'm afraid I'm terribly busy at the moment..._  
  
_I can wait. When are you free?_  
  
666: _Is anyone ever really free?_  
  
_It's important to me. Please tell me when_  
  
After that, the smart ass just stopped texting back. From the way he hadn't even asked about the saving, you were sure he knew exactly what you were talking about. So it had indeed been him or someone else on his orders. This made you long even more for an opportunity to talk to him and see if there still was something between you. 

When you had exhausted the electronic resources, you tried again, differently. After the werewolf killing, you had taken to wearing the bracelet again. You weren't sure what it transmitted from the bunker since the wards might interfere, but you were sure he could feel your location and pulse when you were out. So, the new plan was to instigate another rescue mission. You went out for a run, deliberately ran faster than was your usual workout speed to get your heart really going and then dramatically fell over. Nobody showed and apart from a bruise on your butt from where you had fallen on a tree root, you had nothing to show for it. Admittedly, the plan hadn't been very good, but you hadn't had another hunt coming up and it had been worth a try.

You considered summoning him, but everyone you or the Winchesters had ever summoned had been bitching about that. Apparently supernatural etiquette allowed for killing, torturing or eating each other, but summonings were in bad taste. In your opinion, that was stupid, but all the same, you didn't want your conversation to start off on the wrong foot.

Finally, you asked Dean to borrow his phone. He wasn't happy to be an accomplice to your own destruction (as he called it), but he let you. Up to now Crowley had always answered Dean's calls, so the chances seemed in favor of you actually being able to talk to him this time. Faced with that prospect, you felt your nerves jitter and wondered if it really was what you wanted. Before you could chicken out, you slinked off towards your room and dialed his number.

"Are these calls going to be a regular thing? 'Cause if they are, I think we should get friendship bracelets or matching tattoos, Squirrel."

"Tattoos of what?" you asked, amused and intrigued. You had planned on revealing yourself more elegantly, but his words had taken you by surprise. There was silence on the other end for a second while Crowley was processing the voice he hadn't been expecting.

"Please don't hang up," you said quickly.

"Unicorns seem to be the thing for BFFs at the moment," Crowley replied after a moment. "Although I'd consider the perennial favorites – initials and pink hearts – if that's Squirrel's wish."

"So you want the D?" you asked, easily falling into the banter.

"Occasionally," he shot back without missing a beat. Your cheeks were heating up. This was not the conversation you had planned. Thankfully, Crowley turned it to the issue at hand.

"So, what was so important you had to resort to this _diabolical_ plan of switching mobiles to get me on the phone?"

His ironic tone suggested he was less than impressed, but you could tell he wasn't really annoyed at you, which put you a little at ease. 

"I wanted to thank you for saving my ass in person," you said. "For a moment, I had thought it was over."

A rustling sound. "Even if I had something to do with that, no need to bother. Don't go feeling special, love, killing's my bread and butter and one more dead creature's definitely no skin off my back."

"I don't – I just didn't expect you to," you said, then, frustrated you couldn't read his face and explain properly, fell silent. "Look, can we not do this over the phone?"

"We don't have to do this at all, pet." 

His cool answer did nothing to improve your frustration.

"Please, Crowley." 

You let the need to see him infuse your voice, hoping he'd take pity on you and agree. There was a long suffering sigh. 

"You'll have to come out. My BFF seems to have taken me out of the wards."

With that, the call was ended. You headed out of your room, made sure to pass a mirror on your way, chastised yourself for being ridiculous and walked on, then returned to the mirror to check your clothes and smooth down your hair. You grabbed a jacket against the cold, left Dean's phone on the table in the war room and skipped up the stairs to the door. 

He was already waiting for you when you arrived, facing away with his hands in the pockets of a black trench coat. When you stepped out and closed the door, Crowley turned and inclined his head towards you, face neutral and revealing nothing of what he was thinking or feeling.

"Hi," you said cautiously, wondering what kind of greeting would be appropriate for a royal demon ex-lover who had saved your life recently. There were no etiquette guidebooks on that kind of situation. "Thanks for coming."

"Is the restraining order lifted, then?" he asked, a scathing edge creeping into his humorous remark. Over all the charming smiles for you, you had nearly forgotten how formidable and intimidating he could be. Seeing him standing there, just a little bit pissed off, you remembered how much that side of danger around him added to his attractiveness. You were used to him using humor to cover up what he was feeling, but this time, there were big cracks in his walls. You hoped his bad mood meant he hadn't been indifferent to not seeing you.

"It was only a request and yeah, I'm taking it back," you said. "I didn't-"

"Well, I'm so very glad you deigned to change your mind," Crowley cut you off, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Was that all?"

Ouch. Being brushed off like this hadn't been what you had had in mind when you asked him to talk to you. 

"No," you said quietly. "I misjudged you and I'm sorry for that. I thought you didn't care for me like I needed you to and I was wrong."

Crowley eyed you dispassionately. "What makes you think you were wrong?"

"The useful weapon presents? The life-saving?"

A nasty grin appeared on his face. "You of all people know best how much I like quartering people. That was nothing I wouldn't have done for anyone, given the opportunity. I just happened to be in the neighborhood."

Well, that sounded like a classic Winchester deflection strategy and you weren't falling for it. You closed your jacket against the wind that was blowing softly, a fitting atmosphere for the mood of your conversation, and steeled your heart against the little verbal barbs he continued to throw at you.

"Yeah, just incidentally happening to stop by when I was about to kick the bucket," you amped up the sarcasm on your end as well and crossed your arms. "What a lucky coincidence."

He stepped towards you. 

"I'm not your dashing hero, understand? Do you want to know how many souls Juliet has collected since we've been to Rome?" 

You shook your head. 

"How many have broken on the racks in hell under my rule since then? How many humans I've screwed over in deals?"

He advanced further, leaving you to uncross your arms and step back, trapped against the wall of the bunker. 

Even though you had the slight feeling he wanted to scare you on purpose and – probably – didn't mean all he was saying, his tactic was working. In spite of your warm clothes, you were shivering and your hands were shaking at your sides. Satisfied as he looked, eyes darting to your wrist where the bracelet was hidden by the arms of your jacket, he had to feel how he was affecting you.

"Do you want to know how many of them I have screwed – full stop?" 

He smiled maliciously and you felt a pang of hurt. Yeah, you knew about one of them and you hadn't liked it. You did not need to hear about more.

"How many people have been hurt and killed _by my demons, on my orders_ in the meantime?"

He stepped right into your personal space, stopping just short of his body touching yours. A thrill ran through you when he finally took his hands out of his pockets. You knew these hands and knew what they could do to you. You had had them caress you gently, clever little touches teasing the most wonderful sensations from you and a strong grip making you feel safe and cared for. 

But they had restrained you as well, hurt you, closed around your neck, squeezing and crushing, cutting off your air and threatening to leave you unconscious or worse. 

This time, they just closed around themselves, betraying the emotions Crowley wasn't showing in his voice or on his face.

"You care for me, I know that," you insisted, watching his expression closely as you were talking. He didn't bat an eyelash at your accusation, but let a smile slide onto his lips. It didn't quite reach his eyes when he looked at you. 

"Darling, I have no soul to care with."

The hand coming up to caress your cheek felt like a threat more than an endearment. "You were just a way to pass the time."

You didn't believe a bit of his performance, but still, that message hit you like a punch in the gut. Of course you had been deliberating about whether it had just been the sex he had wanted from you. Like a compass, Crowley perfectly homed in on your insecurities. Not letting his barbs get to you was hard, but you knew he wasn't speaking the truth. Was he?

"Then why are you here? And why are you trying to talk me out of seeing you when you don't care?" you asked defiantly.

His hand slid down to your chin, tightened around it and tilted it up a little so you couldn't look away.

"To make you stop contacting me. "

You didn't want to believe him. This was not the Crowley you had gotten to know. From the way he was looking at you to the way he was talking, it all seemed fake. You sincerely hoped that this was the pretense and that he had been sincere with you before – and not the other way around. 

"But, all those things you said before about me, about us?"

As soon as the words had left you, you knew they had been a mistake. They would only spur him on to push you away. You winced as the fingers on your chin squeezed to the point of pain. 

"I've told you before, love, I wanted to spoil your virtue," he said. "And seeing as you come running back for more, like a perfect little slut, I'd say I have succeeded pretty well." 

With a last nudge, his hand left your face. He took a step back.

"I'd like to move on now, so if you'd kindly stop calling, I'd be much obliged."

_What the fuck._ For a moment, you were speechless and too stunned to process anything he had said to you. Then you decided to just refuse to believe the crap he was trying to feed you. The demon you had gotten to know would _never_ talk to you like that. Was he still trying to stay away from you, like you had asked? Push you away, since you didn't follow your own rules?

You caught his hand and pulled him back to you, surprised when he let you. Your heart was beating fast and you hoped you were on the right track, thinking he was just faking his indifference. But there was no way around taking a risk, pushing him until he showed his true colors.

"You'd think that in three hundred years, you'd have learned to lie better," you said as matter-of-factly as you managed. "Stop being hurtful, it's not scaring me away."

Crowley's brow furrowed in confusion, then irritation. 

"Did you not hear me when I told you of the things I'm doing?"

You nodded and squeezed his hand. "It was a mistake to push you away, I know that now."

Crowley sighed and jerked his head to the side, little cracks in his cold demeanor showing. He didn't stop you when you gripped the lapels of his trench coat and pulled him closer to you, only protesting verbally.

"You're in for a world of pain if you insist on continuing this insanity," he threatened without venom.

"Forgive me," you whispered and stepped forwards until you were flush against him, your face inches from his. The cold wall fell then. Defeated, he let his expression slide into one of gentle exasperation, one you were already familiar with. _That_ was your Crowley. Relieved, you smiled at him.

"Kitten, my steadfastness is about to reach its limits, I am a demon after all," he grumbled, his arms coming around you lightly when yours slid up his chest. 

"Good," you replied, trailing one hand through the stubble of his beard. Now you were back in his arms, where you had wanted to be for the best part of the last months, you felt a multitude of raw emotions welling up inside you and you had to bite back the tears that were threatening to spill. 

"Be very sure," Crowley murmured, eyes fixed on yours, watching your expression closely. There was no way to express the world of yes you were feeling, so you just nodded.

Crowley abandoned his reserve then, tightening his arms around you. Sulfur, smoke and his cologne flooded your senses as he pressed you against him. He lightly brushed his lips across yours – as if giving you time to say no or pull away – before going for a soft kiss. Your eyes fluttered closed as his lips moved slowly and gently against yours. The tender touch felt like getting to know each other again and making sure of what you felt for each other. There was no question of what he was feeling for you now.

Before long, he deepened the kiss, insistent and demanding, and you relished his fervor, opening up for him. Time passed but you couldn't have said if it had been a minute or an hour. You couldn't think at all, afraid that all the emotion would spill over and ruin the moment if you did. 

Crowley ended the kiss, but didn't let go of you. He watched your face carefully, assessing what you were thinking, and, when he was satisfied, gave you a quick peck on your lips. When he pulled away again, you noticed he had zapped you into his rooms in hell. 

From the open door to the corridor a little light spilled into the room. With a wave of his hand, Crowley lit a few more candles. Quick steps on the stone floor outside alerted you to one of his demons approaching. Before you saw him, you heard a squeaky voice grovelling.

"Your highness, the meeting-"

"NOT now," Crowley barked and, with another wave of his hand, the heavy door fell closed and locked audibly. He took off his trench coat and jacket and threw them on a chair, then turned to you and started to undress you. You tried to help, but he stilled your hands and continued alone, slowly pulling off garment after garment, until you were standing naked in the soft candlelight, his bracelet the only adornment to your body. 

Without warning, he swept you off your feet, surprising a little squeak out of you, carried you to his bed and carefully laid you down. You settled back on your elbows and watched him undress. 

He kept his smoldering eyes on you as his nimble fingers loosened his tie, took it off and started to open the buttons of his shirt, one by one, by hand. He pulled the shirt off and threw it to the side. The pants, too, were gone fast and he joined you on the bed, eyes burning with lust, though looking fully human. From the foot of the bed, he crawled up towards you, stopping to ghost little kisses along your ankles and thighs. You made room for him between your legs and he continued his light little caresses up your body to your breasts and neck. 

Arching your back and stretching up to meet his mouth in another kiss, you felt his arm slide under you. He easily lifted you with him when he sat back, cross-legged. 

He pulled you into his lap, maneuvering your legs around him. A thrill ran through you when you realized how close you were in this position. Sex could hardly be more intimate than this. Your face was inches from his, displaying every little detail of what you were feeling. You put your arms around his neck, holding on for what was to come.

But unlike ever before, he handed over the reins to you. With one arm slung around your hip, he looked at you and made clear he waited for you to move. Eyes firmly on his, you positioned yourself and slowly sank down, letting gravity pull you inch for inch down onto his cock. You winced and bit your lower lip in discomfort from the stretch when he entered you – without more foreplay, you were a little tight for his girth – but the pain wasn't unwelcome, grounding you and keeping you focused in the moment.

Crowley noticed and soothed you with a deep kiss, distracting you from the burn. When the sensations had lessened a bit, you slowly started to rock. Your nipples quickly hardened from the way your breasts brushed against his chest and with every movement, you rubbed against him, creating friction on your clit. Crowley helped you move, the strong arm around your hips lifting you a little with every rocking motion, but apart from that, he let you lead.

Everything felt different from before. There was no banter, no power play, no distraction by his demonic powers. There were no restraints and no other people. There was only him and you and you felt naked under his gaze. This wasn't fucking anymore, this was making love.

The thought sent chills through you. It wasn't long before you felt the tendrils of pleasure converge hotly in one spot. 

"I'm close," you whispered, earning a pleased sigh and a kiss from Crowley. 

"Come, kitten," he murmured against your cheek.

He gently kissed your neck and gripped your hips more tightly, thrusting up to meet your rocking motions. Within a few seconds, you were moaning and shaking. Both of Crowley's arms came around you, holding you steady. Your eyes fluttered closed, but with a gentle nudge he made you open them again, intent on watching you come.

"Look at me," he said, voice coming out rough.

You could feel yourself clenching around him and struggled to keep your eyes open and on his. Each of his thrusts sent another wave of pleasure through you, drawing out your climax. While you were riding it out, he held you and drank in the sight of you. 

He continued his thrusts at a leisurely pace, looking as if he had all the time in the world and could keep going like this forever. Being a demon, he probably could, you'd get sore first. But he didn't put that theory to the test. With a little help of his clever fingers, he made you come again, gasping and shuddering, a couple minutes later and this time, he wasn't far behind. Eyes on yours, he tightened his grip on you and quickened his thrusts, then, with a groan, spilled himself deep inside you.

You stayed in place for a few moments, catching your breath, then slid off him to lie down on the bed. Crowley reverently kissed both your breasts before letting himself fall down next to you. With a snap of his fingers, the wetness between your legs disappeared. You smiled at him gratefully, aware now of what his attention to that little detail meant for you.

A hand came down to stroke your head and play with your hair. Content, you sighed.

Neither of you spoke, but that was alright. Even without words, everything was said. For a fleeting moment you almost fell into a little panic, thinking about how your life would change now, about what he expected of you and what you wanted to change, but then you relaxed. There was time for plans, later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owed you guys a long one, so here goes. Also, there was a little heartbreak to mend - I hope Nikki and Loveinhell forgive me now :)  
> As always, thank you so much for your feedback!


	20. Chapter 20

And just like that, you were in a relationship with the King of Hell. A human and a demon – it was bound to fail spectacularly, but for now, you thought you were both doing fine feeling your way along this new liaison.

After your thorough _reconciliation_ , you finally got that tour you had taken a rain check on before. When you left the king's quarters, demons were scurrying along the dark corridors in a surprisingly businesslike manner, carrying clipboards and talking about deadlines for reports. You revisited the throne room (oh, the memories) and followed Crowley to the dungeons.

Upon seeing the famous racks, you shivered at the atmosphere. There were still traces of old magic in place, palpable by the way your skin tingled and your sense of time was completely off. There was a humming like static in the air and you imagined you could still hear the reverberations of the screams of pain and desperation in the cold dark rooms that were thankfully empty now. Crowley also led you to "the line" he had created, where sinners were waiting for eternity, moving forwards about a foot a week, never really arriving anywhere. They seemed to be in some kind of semi-conscious state, not reacting to you at all when you walked past them. You were glad of the changes Crowley had made, which was, of course, exactly what he had wanted you to feel after the tour. He quickly led you past a few doors behind which you suspected were the departments he was not so keen on presenting to you. You didn't pry then; he was King and would show you more when he wanted to.

Next, he introduced you to his most trusted stalwart, a demon in the meat suit of an elderly gentleman. Crowley described him as the only one who at least bothered to pretend to be loyal to his king, but from the way they interacted, you gathered he didn't doubt his loyalty at all. Guthrie was surprisingly polite and seemed as good an employee as one could get. He didn't bat an eye when he was warned in pretty colorful words how he would suffer if anything happened to you during your stay downstairs. He nodded, welcomed you with a deferential "Madam," a bow and a slight crinkling of his eyes. You had the feeling that the two of you would get on splendidly and you were glad. It would be difficult enough for a human to hold her own in hell, especially since your role in this kingdom was yet to be defined. 

It certainly wasn't Queen of Hell. You were looking forwards to helping Crowley scheming, sitting by his side and accompanying him when he'd be working topside, but you were still a hunter and had no intention of taking over his reign if he was out or otherwise indisposed.

Crowley showed you the Seal of Solomon – he had indeed scavenged it at the same time as Ehud's dagger – and explained how it cemented his reign, preventing his demons from disobeying him while he was wearing it. They were ordered henceforth to follow your orders and not to harm you, but Crowley advised you to stay on your tip toes nevertheless, since the "bloody little blighters", as he called them, would try to find a way around the Seal. 

*

When you left the bathroom after your morning ablutions on the second day after your reconciliation, Crowley awaited you in his rooms with a look of guarded, but unmistakable enthusiasm. He didn't show it forthrightly, but you could tell he was excited from the way he was almost imperceptibly rocking forwards and back on his heels. 

"There's someone else I'd like to introduce you to," he had said mysteriously and, upon your nod, opened the door to an empty corridor. 

"Come on in, poppet," he called and you narrowed your eyes at the familiar address of a woman until you heard claws on the stone floor and wet panting and realized who he had to be talking to. His eyes moved from the door to his feet and he smiled at thin air.

"Good girl, come to Papa," he cooed, bending down to pet the hound when she obviously obeyed. "That's it, Juliet. Sit, girl." 

He materialized a collar in his hands and fastened it around her neck. It stayed visible, so you could tell where she was and Crowley firmly held it. Still, you were just a little terrified about being near a hell hound – most of what you knew about them, you knew from lore and that information hadn't exactly been reassuring.

Crowley beckoned you closer, telling Juliet what a good girl she was and how she had to be careful and alert you to her presence since you couldn't see her. It seemed Juliet was attuned to her owner pretty well; she whined and gave little barks in all the right places and held still when you cautiously ran your hand over her soft, luxurious fur for the first time. It turned out she wasn't aggressive and brutal at all, but gentle and devoted to her "Papa". You couldn't imagine her chasing people down for their souls. Like any dog, she liked to be petted, bumped her head against your hand, asking for more, and tried to slobber wet smooches all over you. Only the large teeth you felt when she licked your hands indicated she was anything more than an overgrown puppy.  
You were accepted into the pack then and there. Crowley suggested you keep Juliet by your side to protect you whenever he popped out of hell and you didn't feel like coming along.

It was cute how delighted he was by your getting along with his pet. Later, you tried calling him "Papa" in jest when Juliet wasn't around, just to see how he'd react. By the way his eyes glinted and you were dragged to his bed, you gathered he liked it. Like, a lot.

*

In between the fun stuff, Crowley had to work. It turned out he had his fingers in a lot of regular topside companies, having bought in his way by renegotiating soul deals. Apparently people were more likely to agree to a few more months of life in exchange for stocks or executive positions when Juliet had her front paws on their chest, was baring her teeth and drooling all over their faces. You got the impression that the bigger part of Crowley's work consisted of decision making for those companies and didn't concern hell or any supernatural activities. 

While he was working, you had Guthrie show you hell's library. There was a multitude of old and valuable scrolls as well as dusty tomes and newer books on all things supernatural, but all were in horrible disarray and looked unused. You browsed through the shelves and looked for books you could use for hunting, keeping away from the freaky things, like books that seemed to be bound in skin or dipped in blood. Whenever you found something interesting, you texted Sam pictures and moved the books to a pile you had created for yourself. Sam was so thrilled about your yield, he seemed close to climbing through the phone to see it for himself. You vowed to try and arrange things so the Winchesters could come visit sometime and Sam could dig into the old texts himself.

The pile of books that interested you grew and grew. When Crowley came to look for you, he found you in between several piles, with your hair in a bun, dust all over you and your nose in a book about witchcraft that tempted you to try your hand at a little spell that looked harmless but probably wasn't. In hindsight, you thought it had likely been a good idea of him to take the book away and distract you with a dinner date.

*

There were downsides as well. Apart from the question whether you wanted to pursue this relationship, there had never been causes for arguments between you before. So, when he didn't react as coolly as you would have liked to the sucking up of one of his slutty little minions – you were starting to seriously dislike that bitch Anaïs – a few days later and you had your first fight, you discovered on the spot that you had nowhere to storm off to. You could leave his quarters, but there was no way to leave hell. You walked off to the part of the dungeons where Juliet's kennel was. Unable to open it without demon powers, you sat down next to it and stuck your fingers through the bars, holding back hot tears of frustration while Juliet whined and licked your hand. You weren't used to relying on other people for your freedom.

Crowley came to get you not long after, opened the kennel and let out a hell hound desperate to cheer you up by wetly licking your face. Grumbling about a centuries old body and hard surfaces, Crowley sat down next to you. By then, you had already realized the argument had been stupid and unnecessary, born from the fact that both of you were used to being independent and had stuck together for too long without a break. You told Crowley you missed topside and the boys and he offered to zap you to the bunker. Your hands met, stroking over Juliet's back.

"You should have said something sooner, kitten, I can't read your mind," he said, drawing your hand to his face and kissing it. 

You kept holding his hand and listened up. That was something you had been wondering about for a long time. 

"You can't?" You watched his face for confirmation.

"Only when I'm inside you," he said, then clarified with a small smirk, "possessing your body. And we haven't done that… yet."

His expression of scheming made your heart beat faster. A long time ago, not long after you had joined the Winchesters, he had called his minions off the boys. The demons had left you alone since then and there had been no need for you to get an anti-possession tattoo. Everything was possible.

*

He slipped inside you easily, like silk sheets sliding down a smooth leg. Your heart beat fast and you were nervous to be so exposed to him, broadcasting every thought and feeling. It was more intimate than anything else you had done in your life, definitely more intimate than sex. 

His demonic essence felt like he tasted in his meat suit, familiar yet exotic, with a side of dark. It slithered sinuously inside, prickling at the edges of you, trying to find space to settle. Being a little control freak, your mind didn't make it easy for him, but his familiarity and the positive emotions he gave off calmed you enough to take a step back from the steering wheel to give him space beside you.

"How does this work?" you asked, a little too loudly in the silent room, suddenly aware that you didn't need to talk at all.

_Relax, kitten._

A wave of affection washed over you from his essence. You felt him _push_ forwards and tried your best to relax and give up control. Your body started to walk towards the corner of the bedroom, as if on its own accord, and stopped right in front of the large mirror. You looked at yourself and found your mouth turned up in an unfamiliar smirk. It was strange to see your own body looking back at you, but not reacting, not moving in time with your impulses as usual. You got the irritating feeling you were restrained in your own body and had to make an effort to stay impassive – not that you had the slightest chance of kicking him out if he was intent on possessing you.

"Hello, love."

Your voice came out lower and raspier than usual. Crowley let your eyes flash red for a moment, startling you into the insight that, technically, you were a demon right now. A spark of excitement lit in you and you could feel the emotional equivalent of a chuckle radiate towards you from your lover.

_Have you possessed women before?_ you thought at him, wondering how it would feel to be in the body of the opposite sex. The thought of Crowley in a female meat suit was interesting, too.

_Of course. Sometimes I needed a meat suit quickly, sometimes it was convenient or I was just … curious. But I've never let them drive while I was inside._

One of your own smiles tugged at the corners of the smirk. 

_And you plan on letting me? Where am I going to drive?_

_Where we're always driving, kitten. The road to pleasure._

Even in your head he managed to end his sentence with a little flourish of his voice, drawing out his last words.

He made you take a few steps back towards the bed and raised your arm. You felt a strange, light prickling run down to your hand, then the mirror slid over to stand in front of the bed. _Awesome._ You had demon powers, at least the demon inside you did. Sadly, the mirror didn't move an inch when you immediately tried the same thing without Crowley's intent. You couldn't access his powers, it seemed. 

_With a little more practice, you might._

He really could sense everything you were thinking. Crowley made you climb up the bed and lie back against the head board, so you were comfortable and saw yourself in the mirror if you looked straight ahead. Then he zapped your clothes away with a snap of your fingers. 

_Give us a show, love._

He moved back, leaving the steering wheel open to you. Thanks to the connection between you, you knew exactly what he wanted: to feel what you felt when you were touched, to know how your body reacted, how you liked to pleasure yourself. And he knew you were shy about being watched, so of course he made you expose yourself, the bastard.

Your thoughts amused him.

_No need to be shy with me anymore…not after..._

A flash of memories went through your head, all containing you, from his perspective: your naked body hanging suspended from the ceiling, ass whipped red; the obscene view of his cock disappearing in your open mouth while Julien was staring up from between your legs; you, sitting naked on the King's lap on his throne.

_All right,_ you thought, not reassured in the least. _Feel free to join in any time._

You drew up your legs and spread them a little, giving him a view. The immediate, unfiltered wave of appreciation spreading warmly inside you encouraged you to go on. You ran your hands down your body slowly, starting at your neck, and let your fingers rub over your nipples until they were perking up. Down to your thighs your hands went, stroking on their way down, scratching their way up. Your movements probably were a little more showy than usual in your alone time, but you got no complaints.

You sucked two fingers into your mouth, wetting them, then trailed them down your breasts and belly. Your copilot seemed to like the view as well as the sensations. Since he was riding along in your body, his enjoyment fed back into your nervous system and soon, you were dripping wet.

He kept your eyes on the mirror the whole time, watching every one of your movements closely, and you found his attention to be equally unsettling as you found it exciting.

Your fingers ghosted farther down, over your most sensitive areas, caressed, stroked, then pulled away again, teasing him. When you felt he had enough of your games and was just about to take over the steering wheel (you had forgotten he knew you were teasing him since he shared your head), you let your fingers find a rhythm, pressing down while slipping the fingers of your other hand inside yourself, one after the other, making sure to send a thought of longing for his cock his way. His essence flared up and he gave you a little nudge.

_Look,_ he instructed and you did, seeing yourself in the mirror, aroused and disheveled, your sweat dampening the sheets where your moisture hadn't soaked them already. Crowley turned your eyes red, knowing what that did for you, lighting the last spark you needed to come. Thighs clenching, you rode out the waves of pleasure together.

Before Crowley could slip out of you again, you acquainted him with the value of letting another orgasm follow the first. His response was unsurprisingly enthusiastic, hedonist that he was, and he finally lent a hand full of sparks to bring you to climax.


	21. Chapter 21

_Hope you have a hunt for me_

_Arson ghost okay? :)_

_Perfect! Will be there!_

After several days of leisure and getting to know hell, you were itching for a hunt. Crowley let you go after a minimal amount of discussion about whether playing hunter and demon with him was substitute enough for ganking real monsters. While you didn't object to his suggestion at all, you had the feeling that Crowley wanted slutty hunter and horny demon and that would scratch a wholly different itch. You needed a real hunt to get your adrenaline flowing and to feel like you were contributing to the world again. 

Crowley – seemingly reintegrated in the wards – zapped you to your room in the bunker and you bounded out, eager to see your boys. You found them in deep research mode, several pots of coffee in, gathering the last information on the hunt of the week. Since less time had passed for them than for you – time ran slower in hell, even outside the racks – and you had kept in touch by phone, they hadn't worried much about you. Still, Sam nearly crushed you in his arms and Dean fake-punched your shoulder.

"So, how's the Queen of Darkness?" he ribbed you. "D'you want us to bow to you now or something?"

As if he bowed to Crowley. You stuck out your tongue at him, nicked his coffee mug and emptied it in one gulp. Served him right.

"Shut up. The Queen of Darkness is in a good mood today, so, no bowing. What have you got?"

Sam tossed you a bag containing pastries, then showed you the papers he had printed. A house in St. Louis, Missouri, had burned down for the eighth time in the last century. Every single time, people had died. This time, it had been the owner, while his wife and kids had been lucky to spend a holiday with extended family; before it had been caretakers, previous owners and once even a postman who had been there by chance. Sam explained how in all instances, fires had broken out in different rooms, sometimes burning down the whole house, sometimes just the parts of it where the victims had been. Happy for a challenge, you looked for a pattern and, after scanning through the papers, found it to be obvious.

"Did you notice all the victims were men?"

Surprised, Sam double-checked the papers. "But the girl in the seventies…"

"...survived with smoke inhalation injuries, even though she wasn't far from the others in the house. She moved away afterwards."

"And Tavin's wife?"

You grabbed the oldest paper. "It says she tried to alert the neighbors to get help, but it doesn't say whether she survived or not."

Dean eyed the coffee pot with longing. "Why d'you think that's important?"

You shrugged and moved to refill his cup and get yourself one of your own, because you were a merciful Queen. When your poured the coffee, your shirt sleeve slid up and you noticed Dean's glance at your wrist, where the bracelet was glittering. He didn't comment on it and for Dean, that was a ringing endorsement.

"Dunno. It's just obvious. Maybe it's a jealous suitor or a ghost with daddy issues. Or a woman."

You set Dean's cup in front of him. "Who lived there last, before the fires?"

Sam rifled through the papers. "Before the Tavins and their boys? No idea. There's no record of it."

"Don't matter," Dean decided. "We're going to find out right there. Pack your gear and let's go."

After a four hours' drive, you arrived at St. Louis and the horrible conclusion that there were just too many cemeteries to find the right one by chance. You drove past the freshly burned down house that was standing rather alone. The next neighbors were in sight, but so far away that Mrs. Tavin could have screamed her head off and not gotten noticed.

You went up to the neighbor with Dean, pretending to be a young couple looking for a cheap house to buy and fix up. The friendly old lady served you home-made lemonade that was far too sweet to drink and told you all about the horrible fire and the family that had lived there before. She seemed rather lonely and took the opportunity to shoo you to a wicker love seat and tell a few old family stories to the both of you. 

While she was turning away to get her photo albums out of the cabinet, you poured half of your lemonade into a plant sitting next to you. Dean nudged his glass towards you but there was not a chance you would save him; it would be more fun to watch him try and dispose of it himself or drink it down to avoid facing the disappointment of the neighbor. Before you took leave, the neighbor gave you an address where you could probably reach the wife of the deceased or at least someone who knew where she was.

"Thank you very much, Mrs. Halloway. Drink up, honey, we have to go," you smiled sweetly at Dean and reached over to squeeze his hand. He crushed your fingers between his and smiled back.

"Later, babe."

He downed the lemonade, giving you a killing glance that made you shiver. For all the horrible, illegal things the Winchesters did on a daily basis, somehow there were certain rules of courtesy they weren't willing to break, like admitting to an old lady that her lemonade wasn't drinkable.

Dean's "later" sounded like a war declaration, but luckily, you knew a way to get out of that easily. On the way to the car you asked innocently if there was fresh fruit at the bunker and if not, whether you could buy some on the way home. Dean listened up at the implicit promise of freshly baked pie and, mollified, forgot all about his revenge. As it was early evening already, you picked up Sam and looked for a diner to grab a bite. When all the burgers and fries had been eaten and it had gotten dark, you returned to the house with a lot of salt and an iron bar each to meet the one responsible for the fires. 

A light push of Dean's hand opened the door. Upon entering, you found the house was still standing, but barely. The walls in the entrance hall were charred black and the smell of burned wood and plastic was overwhelming. You split up and searched the house, but no ghost appeared. For the better part of an hour, you tried to find any old personal items that a ghost could be linked to or that could at least give you a hint as to who was haunting this house, but nothing came up. 

When you were about to ask the boys whether there could actually be something wrong with the electricity, making natural fires more likely, Dean stomped down the stairs towards you and shouted some question about your supplies. Within a split-second a white mist appeared in front of you and Dean was thrown against the wall at the far end of the hall. Pinned there, he couldn't move and you couldn't really make out what was happening through the mist.

Summoned by the sound of his brother crashing into the wall, Sam came running down the stairs as well and was stopped before he could step down onto the floor. 

Cautiously, you tried your own feet and found that you were free to move around as you pleased. The white mist hovered mysteriously in front of you, though.

"What's happening?" Sam shouted. "Are you all right? Dean?"

Dean groaned. You could tell he was not all right, but at least he could breathe, if not move. Dean's flashlight, lying on the floor a few feet away from him, flickered and crackled ominously and you had the bad feeling that this would be the epicenter of the next fire if you didn't find a solution soon.

"I'm okay," you called to Sam. "The mist, what is it?"

"It's the ghost, it's not corporeal… is it hurting you?" Sam answered. 

"No, I'm fine. Everybody relax and talk softly," you called out. You had a feeling of what was happening in this house. You gently addressed the mist in front of you. "Hey, who are you?"

It wavered a little, but that could have been your imagination. Sam watched you silently and you kept him in your view. His liberty of action would be a good indicator for whether what you were doing was working.

"I'm okay here," you continued. "Thank you for your help, but these are my friends. They're not going to hurt me." 

You took a careful step towards Sam and the mist followed, drifted closer to you. 

"It's okay, see?"

Taking a deep breath, you took Sam's hand and pulled him down from the last step. The ghost wobbled uneasily, but stayed put and Sam could move again. You kept holding his hand and he followed your lead, keeping quiet. Together, you tried to inch closer to Dean. The ghost wobbled again, then moved in front of you and didn't let you pass. 

"Dean's my friend, too," you tried to reason with it. "He's a good person, he wouldn't harm anyone."

Well, that was stretching the truth so much, you wondered if your worse half had rubbed off on you. Figuratively, you meant. Literally, you knew exactly how often he… Oh well. Focus on the ghost.

The flashlight on the floor flickered again. Dean, still pinned to the wall, coughed and cursed. He didn't sound good. Sam, thinking along the same lines, looked at you and raised the iron bar he held a fraction of an inch. You shook your head, wanting to try again to resolve this peacefully.

"Please, let him down," you asked in a soothing voice. "I'll take both of them and go home, we won't bother you anymore."

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say, since the white form screamed unintelligibly at you and slid Dean up the wall another few inches. Sam had enough then and slashed at the ghost with his iron while you ran towards Dean to help him. He crashed to the floor with a yelp when Sam dispelled the ghost and you helped him up and pulled him towards Sam. A few minutes and several salt lines later, you had the ghost trapped in the east half of the ground floor. It fought against the barrier, but couldn't pass. 

"Damn it," Dean cursed, rubbing his back. 

"Anything broken or sprained?" Sam asked. 

Dean shook his head. "No, just a rough ride. Let's not wait for an encore."

While Dean limped out, Sam and you packed up the rest of your gear and followed him. Turning back to the ghost before you stepped through the door, you thought you saw the outline of a woman. Like on an old photograph, she was colored in shades of gray, but her shape – long hair and long dress – was definitely that of a slender woman. 

Even though you knew you'd come back and take care of the ghost, leaving for the night felt a bit like defeat. Dean drove you to the nearest motel and booked a room for the three of you. You tried to reason with him to take a second room so you'd all have a comfortable bed – you had a credit card to access the spoils of the deals you had encouraged – but the Winchesters were having none of it. They were probably right to stick together, it was safer, but they didn't have the King of Hell at their beck and call. With the bracelet, you were as safe as you could be. For old times' sake, you humored them and took the bed you were assigned. Dean collapsed on the couch and started to snore within minutes. Wondering whether you'd be able to sleep at all, you closed your eyes, just for a moment.

* 

When you opened them again, light was streaming in from a gap in the curtains on the window. The silence outside suggested it was still early, but Sam was already gone from the other bed. Since you didn't hear the water running, you hoped for a breakfast run. You dragged yourself up, passed a quietly sleeping Dean whose legs were too long for the couch and sticking out, and went to take a shower. The water was lukewarm and uninviting and you washed quickly. 

When arms wrapped around you from behind, your heart nearly stopped. Then you recognized the hands, the ring and the suit, let your head fall back onto his shoulder and smiled up at him. You were not yet accustomed to him zapping to your side without warning. 

"Your suit is getting wet," you murmured, not wanting to alert Dean outside to your company. 

Crowley smiled and spun you around. 

"Good morning to you too," he answered, pulled you close and let his lips descend onto yours. He gently nipped at your bottom lip, then kissed you thoroughly, unaffected by the water soaking his clothes. 

"How's the hunt going?" he asked, letting his fingers wander lightly over your breasts, then firmly down your side. As usual, you were like putty in his hands, melting into his touch. Since he didn't seem to mind the water, you pulled him against you, under the stream. 

"It's going well, as soon as we find out who that ghost lady is, she's gone."

He let you pull him in for another, wet kiss. His hand slid down between you, burrowing its way between your legs. 

"Good. Juliet misses you terribly, she spends her time out of the kennel wandering around hell looking for you."

You shot him a fond look. In some things all men were similar. 

"I've missed 'Juliet' as well. Can't wait to return to her."

He could have said he missed you, but that would probably qualify as a weakness in his book. Your breath hitched when he twisted his hand, rubbing all the right spots to almost make you forget to be silent.

"We'll have to be quiet, Dean is sleeping outside," you whispered, sneaking your hands towards his belt. Eyebrows raised, Crowley batted your hands away with his. 

"Ah ah ah, you're here to be good and hunt, not to have fun." He returned his wonderful fingers to your body to keep stroking you. "And Daddy's busy. I just popped in to say hello."

Thanks to the water, you could clearly see the outline of his erection, proving that he was just as turned on as you were. Nevertheless, after a last flick of his fingers that made you jump, he pulled away his hand, stepped back and snapped himself dry.

"Are you serious?" you asked, pouting and turning off the water. He wasn't really going to leave you like this. Was he?

He was. Smirking, he looked at you. "Good things come to those who wait, love."

A quick peck on your lips. "Waidmannsheil. Call me when you're done."

Without waiting for an answer, the cocky bastard was gone.

Now that was not what you had had in mind when you had realized you had a visitor. Damn the demon. There was still a chance he had just zapped himself invisible and after his exit, he didn't deserve a show, but his ministrations had left you hot and bothered and someone had to finish what he had started. So, sighing, you leaned back against the sink and quickly took care of your business on your own. 

*

Dean was awake when you finally left the bathroom and he acted so normal, you were sure he hadn't noticed your visitor. It turned out Sam had left a note on the table, saying he had gone to the library early to get a head start on identifying the ghost.

You told Dean of your vision of a woman the day before and you agreed you had to return to Mrs. Halloway. She was old enough to have a chance at identifying that woman.

This time, you were warned and politely declined the lemonade as it was offered. You were only here to bring flowers and thank her for the talk the day before, after all. 

"I couldn't help wonder," you said when all the pleasantries had been exchanged and you were sitting in her living room again, "I'm sure it's just malarkey, but in town, people are saying the fires started with a certain family, ages ago. They say it was like a curse."

"Pfff…" Dean took his cue. "Curses, witches, magic…don't bother Mrs. Halloway with such nonsense, babe." 

The old lady waved him off and turned to you. "That's all right, dear. I remember my grandmother talking as far back as the Tavins and their boys, but before that, I'm afraid I can't help you."

Excited, you grasped Dean's hand. "Your grandmother, what did she say about the Tavins?"

Mrs. Halloway took her lemonade and drank. "Are you sure you wouldn't like a glass? No? Alright.

"I remember her gleefully telling everybody who wanted to hear it – and everybody who didn't – that Mister Tavins was bitter because it had been his wife who had brought money into the marriage. She was from a rich family, you see, and he resented not being the one to feed his family. You'd think he'd have been happy to be able to feed them at all. Dark times, those were."

She gave Dean an intense look. "Always make sure you have a little something on the side to feed your family. Small coins of gold will do the trick, if no one is willing to give you bread for dollars anymore."

You shot Dean a real smile. You knew he'd fight tooth and nail to take good care of his girl if he ever took the chance of falling in love. 

"He will, he's a good man," you said, squeezing his hand. The atmosphere in that little living room was suddenly inexplicably heavy with emotion and you didn't need to fake any affection. Dean put his arm around you and kissed your head. Mrs. Halloway watched the two of you with approval.

"The Tavins?" you reminded her gently after a moment, leaning against Dean on the little wicker love seat. You felt your phone vibrate in your pocket. Sam might have found a lead, but you didn't want to spoil the moment and risk Mrs. Halloway stopping her story.

"Oh yes, the Tavins. Mister Tavins was bitter and cruel and he didn't care for children. My grandmother was forbidden to visit his boys and play with them, especially after they were reaching puberty. They seemed to grow up in the image of their father. Even when they were little, they drove their nanny crazy with their pranks and their cruel streak."

"Nanny?" Dean leaned forwards. 

"Granny said, as a young woman, she was warned of all the Tavins men," Mrs. Halloway went on with a meaningful look, then took a sip of lemonade. 

"They had a nanny?" Dean asked again. 

"Well, of course they did, what with Mrs. Tavins being such a noble woman."

"You wouldn't happen to remember the name of their nanny, would you?" you asked sweetly, knowing that you were crossing a line with these questions, questions far beyond anything anyone who was looking to buy a house would ask. 

Mrs. Halloway fixated you. "Yes, I'm not senile yet. Everybody just called her Beth. If you were interested beyond that, you would probably find out her name at the city hall. She'd have to be registered there to be buried somewhere."

She stood then. "If you hurry, you can catch the officials before their lunch break."

Alright, so you had underestimated the old lady. You wondered how much she had guessed. At the very least, she suspected you were not here to buy that burned down house. Glancing at Dean, you found him looking relieved to stop the dancing around each other and get to business. Mrs. Halloway led you to her door, not unkindly.

"Thank you for your help," you said, feeling a little guilty for lying to her. 

Mrs. Halloway nodded at you. "Good luck to you, in all your endeavors."

*

You immediately called Sam while Dean drove to the city hall. There you met Sam, holding a copy of a newspaper containing a picture of the Tavins family with both women. He hadn't found out the nanny's name, but a nice official and a heartwarming story about you wanting to visit your long-lost great aunt's grave before you married later, you had that as well. 

The rest was easy. You found Beth's grave where it had been described to you. You pitied her and wished her soul could have gone on. Already the first time in the house you had had a feeling she wanted to protect you. Mrs. Halloway had made sure you got the part where Beth had had a reason for wanting to protect girls. But as a vengeful spirit, she projected her own hurt onto others and her victims were innocent, so there was no solution but to burn her bones. 

When you returned to the house in the afternoon, it was dead silent. You explained your theory to the boys and had them fake-attack you – nothing happened. The ghost was gone.

Passing Mrs. Halloway's house on the way home, you almost had Dean stop to say goodbye to her, but the impulse faded with her house. 

Dean hadn't forgotten about the pie. After a fast drive home, he stopped at a supermarket a few miles outside Lawrence, so you could get the ingredients while Sam bought meat and rabbit food for dinner. It was still early enough to cook and drink together. You spent an enjoyable evening of trying to teach Dean to make pie himself, but he wasn't interested in that at all and sabotaged it by trying to eat all the ingredients for the filling raw. Sam prepared dinner and laughed at your antics. 

When the pie was baking in the oven, you sat down together, eating, drinking and reminiscing about the good old times. After a hunt as easy as this one, you were all relieved and had a bit more to drink than usual. Sam and Dean didn't ask after Crowley and your life there and you didn't expect them to. They had accepted your choice and even tied him into the wards again, which was more than you had hoped for.

Drunk Winchesters were good-natured and pliant and let you snuggle up to them as much as you wanted, if just because they couldn't find the energy to fight back anymore. When you had ruffled Dean's hair enough and hugged Sam to your heart's desire, you said your goodbyes.

"You're not staying?" Sam asked.

"Who's making pie then?" Dean grumbled, half asleep. 

Sam giggled in a very unmanly way. "Not you, that's for sure."

You smiled at them. "Tell me when you've got a hunt or want to go out or whatever. I'm just a zap away."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, plot keeps appearing for some reason and apparently this story doesn't want to be finished. Since it's fighting back, at least two more chapters are coming.  
> Why is writing so hard?  
> Love your feedback! I'm thrilled about every single kudo, so don't hesitate to leave the love.


	22. Chapter 22

Closing the door to the bunker behind you, you leaned against it and breathed in the cool night air that immediately sobered you up again. You decided it was good you had stopped matching the Winchesters drink for drink a few whiskeys back. The little buzz had been fun, but your day was not over yet. You fished in your bag for your phone and texted Crowley. 

_Outside the bunker, come pick me up please?_

Only a few moments later, the crunch of shoes on gravel made your eyes open and you took the offered hand. Crowley enveloped you in his arms and zapped you directly into his dimly lit chambers. 

"Honey, I'm home," you smiled up at him, arms around his neck.

"Took your bloody time, too," he grumbled, but kissed you anyways.

"The ghost lady resisted and afterwards we had to celebrate our victory over her," you told him when he released your lips again. 

"Did you," he answered noncommittally and led you towards the bed. 

By his expression and the way he was talking, you could tell he was irritable. You wondered if he had had a bad day or if it had something to do with you. Whatever it was, you were in favor. Although you liked him as a loving, charming partner, what had drawn you to him all those months ago were his power and dominance. You weren't going to give up your leverage by telling him, but could do with a little more restraining, biting and punishing. Luckily, he seemed just one push away from giving you all that.

"And how, pray tell, did you celebrate?" he asked in a voice that was way too light and amiable to be uninterested. 

You grinned at him. "Ah, you know the Winchesters. Not so much for crowds… we had an intimate little party to ourselves…"

As he was pulling off his jacket, his brow furrowed even more, but he didn't yet let on how much he didn't like the sound of that.

"Just the three of us and a bottle of whiskey. I had missed them so…" you let your voice trail off, making your celebration sound like more than it had been. 

He should have known by now you weren't interested in Sam and Dean like that, but in this mood, he didn't seem to think too clearly. Your T-shirt was tugged off none too gently while you loosened his tie and opened his shirt. Once he had popped open the button on your jeans and slid them down, he realized what you were wearing underneath – the lacy black ensemble he had gifted you with. You had picked it up and put it on before you had left the bunker. You had to admit that even though there was a little less fabric than you were used to (and even that little bit was transparent), he had chosen something beautiful – it fit and accentuated your body perfectly. Slightly mollified, he let an appreciative gaze trail over you, then squeezed your ass and pushed you onto the bed. 

Grinning at him, you lay back and watched him crawl up to you; his eyes dark and full of desire. You felt the tension in the air and longed for his touch, but you also remembered how he had left you hanging in the bathroom of the motel after getting you all hot and bothered. Now was time for payback. 

When he was halfway up your body, you raised your foot to his chest and stopped him. 

"It's late and I'm tired from … celebrating. The boys really wore me out. I'm not really in the mood – maybe tomorrow?"

It was the first time you denied him. On a better day, the king would have accepted your refusal or called your bluff and charmed his way into your pants anyways, but today, his perception was impeded by his irritable mood and this seemed to be the last straw. His jaw clenched and you could see fury darken his gaze, but still, he didn't snap. A little more teasing seemed in order.

"Good things come to those who wait, I've been told," you murmured and turned to the side, feeling for the blanket, but your hands closed over nothing as you were gripped hard by the foot, pulled down the bed and lifted. In a fleeting moment of triumph, you reveled in the accomplishment of finally having pushed him over the edge, but soon, it was replaced with worry about what he was going to do to you now. 

"What the h-" 

Your breath was cut off by the way he was manhandling you onto his lap and over it, dragging your hands behind your back and locking them in position. You couldn't tell what was holding your wrists together, only that they didn't separate anymore and without your arms to hold your balance, you were dangerously close to sliding off his lap and dropping to the floor. In this mood, he wouldn't even try to catch you before you were falling onto your face, you guessed. 

He shifted so you were lying straight across his lap, face down, wiggling and kicking your legs without dignity to prevent falling off. 

"Alright. That's quite enough." 

His rough voice, kept deliberately low, barely contained his anger. 

"You make me wait for bloody _months_ while you decide whether the King of Hell is good enough for you, then I let you out one bloody time and you come back _reeking_ of Winchester, all over, like a common whore…"

You had forgotten how good his sense of smell was. Your panties were pulled down over your ass and, trying to keep your precarious balance, you could only utter an indignant squeak. He didn't _let_ you out, you did not belong to him and if you wanted to rub yourself all over your boys, you would. 

Crowley waited for your struggling to stop before he went on.

"Apparently, I've been too lenient. You seem to be begging for a reminder of who is in charge here and to whom you belong," he growled, trailing a deceptively gentle hand over your ass. "I think a good old fashioned spanking should do it, what do you say?"

Stubbornly, you refused to answer until a hand came down hard onto your butt, slapping a yelp from you. Damn it, he wasn't pulling his punches.

"I'm not your toy," you pressed out between clenched teeth, an abstract of all you wanted to say to him, had your breath not been stolen away by your position and the pain from the blow.

"Oh, but right now you are," he all but purred. 

"Daddy wants to play, so we play; that part is not up for discussion. It's only up to you by which set of rules we are going to play."

His hand stroked soothingly over your butt and you clenched your muscles, knowing what was to come.

"There's the easy way," Crowley continued, the next blow landing quickly, but not quite as hard as the first one. Again, it was followed by his hand, smoothing over the tender flesh.

"Or … the hard way."

Pain blossomed in your ass in a way that drove the breath out of your lungs. Against your will, tears gathered in the corners of your eyes and you gasped, hoping there would be enough time to draw a deep breath before the next blow followed.

"Make your choice." 

Crowley, unimpressed, dangled a dark, wooden paddle with holes in front of your face. So that was choice number two. It hurt like hell.

"Whenever you're ready, pet."

You repressed the sob threatening to pour out your mouth and weighed your options. While the paddle was horrible, you refused to give in so easily to his irritable majesty, you had a bit of pride left in you. Taking a deep breath, you shook your head a little. He wouldn't get an answer from you like this. 

Gently, he wrapped his hand around your ponytail and pulled your head up towards his, making you arch your back to follow.

He bent down to your ear. 

"Do I need to repeat myself?" he murmured, voice all honey and rasp.

"Go fuck yourself," you spat, already dreading the ways in which the pompous dick would make you regret that.

His letting go of your hair surprised you and you had to pull up your legs not to fall over forwards. You could hear the smirk that turned up the corners of his mouth. 

"Such a filthy mouth… as you wish, love. Tell me when you change your mind."

Choice number two did indeed hurt like a bitch. It took only four blows to your backside until you couldn't contain the sobs any more. But while your body screamed bloody murder at the assault on your pain receptors, deep down inside you relished this feeling of him being in control, showing his power over you. Since you couldn't do a thing to stop him, you could let go of everything and just let yourself fall into the sensations.

Crowley didn't go easy on you. The vibrations from the impact of the paddle spread through your ass and cunt, making you restless. Your skin burned like fire where it touched down. After three more blows, you were not above crying out anymore. Your ass had to be lit brightly red and every blow on the bruised skin hurt more than the one before. After a few more, you couldn't stand it anymore, not in the intensity he was dealing out with. 

"Stop," you whispered. 

He held still. "I'm sorry, you were saying?"

"Stop, please," you answered. "It's too much."

"You'll be good now?"

You nodded. 

Another blow landed on your ass, surprising you. You gave a wince of pain. 

"You'll be good now?" he repeated, drawing it out so you'd know he was waiting for a better answer.

"Yes," you said loudly. 

A hand pulled you up by the hair again. His voice lowered.

"Yes, _what_ , sweetheart?"

"Yes, Sir," you answered grudgingly, then flinched as you felt him raise the paddle again.

"Want to try again, love?"

"Yes, my King," you tried and relaxed when he seemed satisfied and let you back down.

The paddle was lowered and moved out of the way and his hand was back on your ass, rubbing circles into the skin with a little too much pressure for it to be comfortable.

"Good girl… Now, you know the drill already. You count, I stop at ten."

A pinch to your skin reminded you to think first and not talk back and it was good it did; it stopped you from protesting. You hadn't expected him to make you suffer through another ten, but it seemed he was having fun. 

On your tenderized skin, the blows still hurt, but compared to the paddle, it was nothing. Crowley spread your legs a little and went on.

When you had just reached ten, there was a knock on the door. You bit your lip to stop yourself from cursing. With your rotten luck, it would make the king add another ten. But you resented being disturbed _now_ , in the middle of things. Unfortunately, Crowley didn't let himself be disturbed and called in whoever was standing in front of his door. _Fuck_.

The door creaked open and footsteps approached. You didn't know whether you wanted to look or not. You were still hanging on Crowley's lap, face down and ass up and you couldn't imagine a more humiliating position to be found in. 

Somebody cleared his throat. 

"Yes, Guthrie?"

"Perhaps I'll come back later, your Highness," Guthrie tried, but Crowley waved his arm, jostling you. 

"Not at all, not at all. Kitten here has just finished learning a lesson and I think she needs some more time for it to sink in."

His hand returned to your ass, idly stroking along and further down.

"How may I be of assistance?" he asked Guthrie in an ironical, but not hostile voice. Slipping his fingers between your legs, he started stroking along your soft flesh, rubbing your folds without breaching you.

"The delivery has arrived and is waiting for your approval, Sir. Everything seems to be in order."

Guthrie's voice didn't let on that you were lying across his King's lap while said King was fingering you, in the middle of a conversation with his employee. It was horribly shameful. Even worse, you were starting to get wet and felt your pulse pound in your cunt. You weren't sure how you'd be able to look Guthrie in the eye afterwards, but this situation was disgustingly, wonderfully, excitingly humiliating. 

Your breath hitched when Crowley rubbed harder, pressing his index finger against you until it slid inside. Biting back a groan, you concentrated on staying very still. You felt your thighs tremble from the effort.

"Leave it, I'll have a look later on," Crowley ordered, slowly moving his finger inside and out. "We're not quite finished here. You're trying hard to be a good girl now, aren't you, love?"

You knew better than to refuse answering. "Yes, my King." 

A second finger joined the first as a reward, easily slipping inside with a filthy, wet sound. Still, Guthrie was standing in front of his King and probably watching. You wished the ground would open up and swallow you. Of course, Crowley had to make it worse, directing all attention to you.

"Would you look at that, she seems to enjoy her punishment. You're dripping, pet." Tense silence while he kept fucking you with his fingers.

"As long as you're here, Guthrie, tell me, do we have any free kennels?"

"I couldn't say, your Highness, but if you'd like I could have a look for you right now."

What was he on about now? Did he want another hound? And was this really the time to be discussing it? You were wet, aching and horribly embarrassed and you just wanted him to free you, throw you on the bed and take you – preferably without an audience.

He bent down to your ear again. 

"How would you like to spend a night in the kennel?" he murmured while twisting his fingers inside you, teasing a little moan from you. "Naked and collared, like one of the bitches…"

A wave of fear swept over you. No, not naked and alone into the kennels...You didn't like the sound of that at all. Since it sounded more like a rhetorical question, you remained silent and hoped for the best. He pulled his fingers out, wiped them on your butt and slapped it lightly. 

"I'm afraid the punishment won't stick if you like it too much."

He turned upwards, presumably to Guthrie. "Thank you, that won't be necessary for now. You're excused."

"Your Highness," Guthrie greeted, then, softer, "Madam," and the footsteps echoed again before the door fell into its lock with a snap.

Crowley shoved you unceremoniously off his lap, thankfully feet first, so you landed on your legs. Still, the stone floor was a hard landing and the restraints on your arms didn't make it easy on you. 

"On your knees," he commanded and you scrambled up to comply. Knees were a step in the right direction – you knew what usually followed that instruction. Twisting your hands behind your back, you pulled up the panties that were still shoved down over your ass.

Crowley zapped a drink into his hand, then waited with a raised eyebrow until you had straightened up and stayed still. 

"I have half a mind to really throw you into the kennel for the night, until the stink of those flannel-clad nightmares has worn off. But maybe I should give you the chance to convince me otherwise."

The kennel didn't sound good to your ears. Spending the night naked and alone wouldn't be play anymore, it would feel like real punishment and you didn't want that. He had won.

"Please, I'll be good," you said quickly. You weren't above begging anymore.

He leaned forwards. "How good?"

"As good as you want me to be, my King," you answered, hoping that this would be enough for him.

"Show me," he commanded, leaned back again and took a sip. 

Ha very ha. You were kneeling on the floor, hands bound behind your back, in the flimsiest clothing you owned while he sat on his comfortable bed, relaxed as you pleased, almost fully dressed, hands free with a drink in one. You knew he was angling for something enjoyable like a blowjob, but there wasn't much room for you to act. At least the bastard had to help.

You eyed his lap in what you hoped was a suggestive manner. "May I?"

"May you _what_ , love?" he asked impassively, as if he didn't have a fucking clue.

You bit your lip to keep from mouthing off. He knew exactly what you were asking, but his pleasure lay in the humiliation you felt when he made you spell it out. A new blush painted your cheeks rosy as you tried not to feel ashamed. There was no reason to be shy, but you couldn't turn it off.

"May I suck your cock, my King?"

The words came out quickly, lest you lost your courage. The corners of his mouth turned up a little. 

"Certainly, be my guest."

He took another sip, but otherwise still didn't move an inch. You turned your back to him and wiggled your hands. 

"A little help getting this off, please?"

He put the glass to the side. 

"You don't need your hands, darling."

At least he moved his own hands to open his pants and pull out his hardening cock, but that was all the help you got. While Crowley still kept his nonchalant air, his eyes glittered and you could tell he loved this; having you on your knees in front of him, helpless and desperate to please him.

To reach him, you had to shuffle as close to the bed as possible. Settling between his legs, you leaned forwards and spread your own to keep in balance. The first few licks to his cock were tentative, trying how far you could lean forwards without falling face first into his lap. When you had tested your stability to your satisfaction, you leaned in to press open mouthed kisses to his length, working your way up to the head. A glance upwards revealed that his majesty was watching you avidly. 

With your eyes still on his, you licked your lips, then turned your gaze down and slid your open mouth slowly down his cock, keeping the ring of your lips tight, as you knew he liked it. You wanted, you needed to make this good so he'd keep you in his bed tonight and not send you away. 

Since he hadn't bothered to remove his clothes, you ended up with your face in his open pants when you had taken in as much of him as you could. He didn't seem to mind your discomfort. You pulled off again, swirling your tongue around his tip, savoring the taste, and went down again, repeating the motion. With every move, your breasts brushed against his legs, making the thin lacy fabric of your bra graze against your nipples, adding more stimulation to your body until you were nearly bursting with arousal. Your knees chafed on the hard floor, you were still sore and aching from the spanking and those two fingers inside you had done nothing but increase an itch that had not been scratched yet – and possibly wouldn't, tonight, if his majesty's mood didn't improve. 

When you finally hollowed your cheeks and started sucking gently, you heard a content sigh from above. Crowley leaned a bit back on the bed and you heard the clink of glass, but didn't see what he was doing. Careful about keeping your teeth away – you wouldn't be forgiven for cheekiness today – you sucked, licked and caressed his cock to the best of your ability. You longed for the use of your hands, but he didn't seem inclined to free them. He didn't touch you, either, didn't run his hands through your hair as usual, didn't pull your hair or guide your head. The message was loud and clear: it was expected of you to ingratiate yourself again and do all the work, without help. So you did.

When his breath accelerated and the groans came faster and louder, he suddenly did touch you, but only to gently push you off.

"Lean back," he ordered hoarsely and stroked himself until he came, spurting all over your chest. 

With a rustle above you, your hands were free again and you rolled your shoulders with a groan. It was good to have your hands back, but you kept them still by your sides. Better not to risk anything. You sat back on your heels, then shot up again at the pain in your ass. Kneeling it was, until you were free to stand up. Silently, you awaited his verdict.

With a content look on his face, Crowley watched your shifting around on the floor and wincing at the bruises.

"Are you going to be good now, kitten?" he asked, voice calm and amused. 

"Yes, my King," you answered, trying to sound as quiet and well-behaved as he expected.

"Alright, then I suppose we could leave the kennel for another night. I don't doubt you'll give me plenty of opportunities for punishment."

Relieved, you relaxed and almost didn't realize he was watching you and waiting for an answer. 

"Thank you, my King," you answered, staying perfectly in place. The atmosphere had changed, but not sufficiently for you to take liberties again. 

Without relieving you of his command to kneel, Crowley stood and walked away to a cabinet. When he returned moments later and sat back down, he twirled something black and leathery in his hands. You cast your eyes down, stayed still and hoped it wasn't a new torture instrument. You had had enough for this evening.

Crowley's hand came down under your chin and tilted your head up. His thumb smoothed over your lips and you opened them slightly, but he pulled away. He raised the leather strap and you realized in relief and excitement that it was a collar, simple and sleek with a single metal ring in the front. It was beautiful.

"While you were off doing the devil knows what with those blasted boys, I popped over to Italy and had this made for you."

He opened the buckle and held it out to you. When he had offered you his bracelet in the french cafe (to you it felt like that had happened eons ago) you hadn't recognized the significance of the gesture, but now you did. Even though you didn't know exactly what was on offer, you knew it wasn't just the strap of leather.

"It's yours, if you'd like it."

It was neither a statement nor a question, more like something in between. You had the feeling he didn't want to seem unsure, yet he was waiting for an answer. Looking up into his eyes, you found him watching your face intently. You hoped that by the way your heart beat quickened, he'd know how much of a yes you were giving him. 

"I'd love it, my King," you said, lifted your hair off your neck with one hand and lowered your gaze back to the floor.

Thrills ran down your spine when he fastened the collar snugly around your neck. It smelled of leather and felt cool against your heated skin. When he was done, he leaned back to inspect you. With obvious satisfaction, he patted the mattress next to him. 

"Come up, kitten."

Having kneeled for so long, this was easier said than done. Your knees, full of scratches and bruises, didn't thank you for your decision to play by the hard rules. Stumbling to your feet, you realized they didn't hold up very well and quickly sat on the bed. 

Crowley made it turn around so that the headboard faced the large mirror in the corner of the room. He pushed you up to the headboard, guided your hands up to hold yourself steady and pulled you onto your bloody knees again, with your back flush against his front. 

"Look at the magnificent picture you make," he murmured into your ear. "I want to see you like that all the time."

Your first thought was that the lighting was favorable in his quarters, painting your skin in soft yellows and oranges. Apart from that though, you looked thoroughly defiled. Your cheeks were still flushed and your hair tousled. The little make up you had put on in the morning had been smudged and trickled down your cheeks in black rivulets of tears and sweat; Crowley's come was slowly running down between your breasts, glistening in the candlelight. The transparent black lace of your underwear made you look even more exposed than if you had just been naked. And the collar, oh that collar. You touched the smooth surface, marveling at the handiwork. 

Half turning around, you found Crowley's eyes. 

"It's beautiful. Thank you." 

You kissed him and he kissed you back. The mood shifted again, away from punishment and power play and you were more than ready for that. When you reached for him, mid-kiss, your hands met warm, naked flesh. The zapping away of his clothes made you smile against his lips. It seemed there was going to be a fun part for you today.

"Turn around, love."

You complied, gripping the headboard again and he started to kiss his way up your shoulder to your neck, licking around the collar.

"Now, if only you weren't so _tired_ ," he said wryly, sliding his hands over your breasts, thumbs rubbing over your nipples. 

"I'm good," you declared, earning yourself a pinch to your nipple. The hands played with the drops of come that had gathered on your chest, then slid down to your hips, rubbing gentle circles into your skin. 

"No really, that paddle has done wonders for my sleepiness," you continued, with a bit more sass than you probably should. "Woke me right up."

His hands scratched up your thighs, ghosted over your panties. 

"Then it's a right shame you're _not in the mood tonight_." 

A hand between your legs, teeth on your ear. 

"There must have been a – aaah – horrible misunderstanding," your voice wavered when he bit down softly. "What I wanted to – oh f… – to say was that I'm never not in the mood."

His ministrations made it hard for you to concentrate on talking and you hoped he was sufficiently convinced. 

"Did you really?"

His fingers hooked into the seam of your panties, pulled them to the side and started to stroke lightly, almost imperceptibly. You moaned and arched your back to give him better access. 

"Anything in particular you'd like me to do?" he asked casually.

You bit your lip. Damn the bastard for turning it all around and making you ask for it. By now, you had enough of playing and just needed him inside you, so you decided to cut the banter short. He wanted you begging and he got what he wanted.

"Please, just fuck me already… I've been waiting for this since you've visited me in the motel."

You glimpsed a satisfied smile on his face in the mirror and felt him inch closer, then line himself up between your legs. You pressed back against him, trying to take him in, but he pulled his hips back a little.

"Please, take me, my King," you breathed, all submissive as he liked you. He couldn't resist an invitation like that.

"Well, since you asked so nicely..."

With a hard thrust, he was inside you and your breath caught. His hips snapped against your ass with every move, driving into the welts from the spanking. In response to the pain flaring up, everything south of your navel tensed, tightening you around his cock. Since you had been on edge for such a long time, it was no surprise when your legs started to tremble and you felt your orgasm impend within a short minute. 

When he felt your heart beat faster, he turned the collar around so the metal ring was on the back of your neck. With a sharp tug on the ring, he tightened the collar around your airways, pushing you over the edge. Shivering and shaking, you rode out the waves of pleasure, while he still thrust inside you. You couldn't have held yourself up, all your extremities seemed to have turned to jelly, but he let go of your collar and held you against him. Thank God for demon strength. After another few quick, hard thrusts, he stilled and pulsed inside you. 

You fell down onto the bed together, panting. Swept by endorphins, you couldn't wipe the grin off your face. Crowley grabbed blindly for your hand, then pressed a kiss to it. 

"Wow...that was…" You were at a loss for words. "Intense..."

"Too much?" A slight note of concern in his voice.

You turned towards him. "No… perfect."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the end guys, there's still one or two ideas to be written out - depending on how courageously I'l be in sharing what goes on in the stranger parts of my mind. As always, thanks for all the love!


	23. Chapter 23

You held out your glass and one of Crowley's underlings hurried to refill it, using a bottle of the good wine you had brought home from Italy. 

"...if he hadn't had so many skeletons in his closet, he needn't have signed over his shares. He almost cried."

Amused by his latest victim, Crowley stabbed a roasted tomato and bit into it with gusto. Twirling your pasta around your fork, you smiled at him. You had little sympathy for those big headed CEOs who felt they could do whatever they wanted at the expense of others, yet acted like little crybabies when somebody – the King of Hell, in this case – called them out and asked for 'favors'.

"So we don't need to buy phones anymore?"

Crowley smirked and emptied his glass. 

"I should hope not. He-"

The door of the hall burst open and Lewis and another demon (whose name you should know by now) dragged in a strikingly beautiful young woman with sleek black hair that went down to her ass. She was clad in a purple velvet dress and flashy jewelry – typical witch couture. You'd think she'd make an effort to disguise herself at least after plotting against Crowley.

"Your Majesty, we found her in the middle of another summoning ritual," Lewis reported, looking uncharacteristically pale and fidgety. His grip on the woman's arm was strong, but he seemed to be swaying a little. 

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Take the hex bag out of your pocket, imbecile."

The witch cackled while Lewis did just that and threw it to the floor where Crowley incinerated it. Lewis immediately looked better, straightened and gripped the her arm harder.

Neither you nor Crowley stopped eating in honor of that bitch's arrival. 

"Do you know what happens to people who try to screw me over?" he asked conversationally, reaching for the bread and tearing off a piece.

The witch seemed to know he was addressing her, being the one in the room who had tried just that. 

"Sire, I never meant to… I just saw a business opportunity and couldn't help myself. I didn't consider your brilliance and magnificence," she simpered. That didn't really explain why she had searched for the people who had struck deals with him and why her plans included devil's traps, exorcism and the infiltration of hell.

Crowley just looked at her and dipped his bread into the olive oil, looking for the world as if he were deciding what to do with her. Only you knew he had already decided what he would do with her long ago, when he had been informed about what she had started and, fuming, had set his own chess pieces in place.

"Please don't hurt me," the witch begged insincerely. "I'll do anything, _anything_ , really."

She fluttered her eyelashes. Well, that was just rude. Yes, your King seemed to have a bit of a reputation, but you were sitting right there in front of her. 

She glanced triumphantly at you and you wondered why – Crowley hadn't given any indication that he was interested and considering her offer – until you swallowed the bite of pasta and prawn you had just chewed and discovered you couldn't breathe. Trying to move your arms to signal your situation to your lover, you realized you couldn't move anymore, either. Damn it, that bitch had brought another hex bag. How had she managed to put that on you? You didn't even wear anything with pockets!

Luckily, you lost your grip on your fork and it clattered to the table, alerting your worse half, who had been playing the part of the evil, enigmatic villain who talked too much before killing his enemies. Looking sideways at you, he ordered Guthrie to search you. You knew it was just a matter of time until Guthrie found the hex bag, but the inability to take in air was torture. Through a haze of panic, you observed Crowley stand up, walk up to the witch and grip her neck. 

A moment later already, Guthrie removed the hex bag from under your seat, took a candlestick from the table and lit it on fire. Finally able to move again, you fell forwards onto the table, coughing and struggling to take deep breaths. 

"Thank you," you said to Guthrie when you could talk again. He made a little bow and moved back to his place at the wall.

In the meantime, Crowley had hoisted the witch onto the table, flat on her back. His hand was still on her neck, keeping her silent, and she had lost her grin. She had probably realized this was not going to end well for her. 

With his flashing eyes always on the witch, Crowley pulled the knife out of the wheel of cheese and slowly dragged it down her chest, splitting her dress down to her navel. You were close to asking what exactly he thought he was doing when he pressed the knife down and cut into her belly. She tried to scream then, but couldn't, ironically lacking air to form sounds. All you heard were gasps, aborted little cries and a rattling breath here and there. Served her right.

Crowley turned the knife around and dragged it up as far as it would go. Since he had demon strength, it went quite far, up to her throat.

The sounds stopped when her chest split completely open and you wondered in academic curiosity whether it was the physical or psychological shock that shut her down. Blood was spilling from the cavity and onto the table, running in little rivulets along the ridges of the wood. The witch's eyes stared into nothingness as her head fell limply to the side.

You took a sip of water to calm your throat. Crowley looked at you, eyes back to normal, making sure you were okay, and you gave him a little smile. Indicating the mess on the table, including the blood running towards the food and coloring his hands, you wrinkled your nose.

"Darling, I was eating," you complained in jest.

Crowley left the knife stuck inside the body, sat down and dried his dripping hands on a pristine white napkin.

"You're right, of course. I'm sorry, love. Where are my manners?"

He turned to Lewis and waved at the mess. 

"You may clear the table. Behead her and burn the parts separately. And next time," his voice lowered dangerously, "search – witches – for – hex bags."

He drew out his message and Lewis and co. hurried to ask for forgiveness, then dragged the body off. You turned back to your food, discovered you had lost your appetite for pasta and stole a few pieces of fruit off the King's plate. While finishing your meal and showing off to the demon underlings that you had a robust stomach and didn't lose your appetite over a bit of slaughter at the dinner table, you wondered how much you had changed over the last few months. Before all this, would you have tried to save the witch, given her a chance to live? She was human, after all. Or would you at least have felt bad about her death? 

And what would Sam and Dean say if they knew about your life in hell on days like this? You were sure that Dean would have killed the witch without asking questions; in his opinion magic equaled evil. You knew life wasn't quite that simple, though. You had been experimenting with a few spells yourself after all, and that didn't make you a monster. Sam would see things in a differentiated manner, which was why you'd be uneasier about his moral judgment. But they weren't here and you weren't going to tell them what had happened. Neither were you going to tell them how seeing Crowley in action, vanquishing his enemy and taking revenge, made you all tingly.

*

You had barely shut the door of his quarters behind you when he was upon you, hands in your hair and mouth on yours. He pressed you against the door, his body flush against yours from thigh to chest, touched and kissed you urgently, as if he needed to feel every beat of your heart and every breath fluttering through your lungs. On his tongue, you could still taste the wine both of you had drunk before. Your head was swimming a little from it and from the current lack of air.

"...humans... so bloody delicate…"

He murmured against your neck, kissing his way down. You let him and didn't answer, aware that he didn't mean to insult you, but voice his worries.

When your tight dress prevented him from touching your skin, he took both sides of your v-neck into his hands and ripped it apart in one fell swoop. Turning you both around, he let himself fall backwards and you landed on top of him, on the soft bed he had zapped you to. A few drops of blood ran down his arm from where his skin had snagged on your bracelet and been cut. On impulse, you licked it off, surprised when it prickled on your tongue, but then you recalled it was demon's blood. A twinge of your conscience followed - you probably weren't supposed to ingest it. 

Crowley, however, seemed mesmerized, his eyes were glued to your lips and you wondered what he was focused on until you wet them and realized by the metallic taste the blood must have left stains. Crowley pulled you down and slowly slid his tongue along your lower lip, licking away the remains.

Although you did remember Sam's history and had concerns, they were not strong enough to trump the rush you felt watching your lover's enraptured expression. You dipped your head and licked at the wound again, enjoying the slight tingle on your tongue, but soon the blood ran dry. 

A movement from Crowley made you look up and you found him holding a knife, elegantly turning the hilt towards you. You took it gingerly, holding his gaze and raised your eyebrows at him. Did he seriously want you to cut him with a demon blade? 

He extended his arm and, with a tilt of his head, encouraged you to continue. The steel was cool against your skin and intimidated you a little. If it could hurt Crowley, it could kill him and even though you could handle a knife, you were not in the habit of sticking knives into people for fun. When you let it graze lightly against his skin, barely scratching at all, he took hold of your wrist and pressed down until the knife pierced his skin and blood welled up again. 

Before you could decide how to proceed, he lifted the knife up to your mouth and you licked at it, careful not to cut yourself on the blade. With every drop, you got better accustomed to the taste and sensations and began to want more. 

Your King wanted something as well, but something else. Since all of your clothes had been zapped away some time ago, it was easy for him to pull your hips down until you were positioned right above his cock. A wave of euphoria washed over you. He always had the very best ideas to make you feel good. You sank down and took him in, too fast for it to be entirely comfortable and yet not fast enough. When he raised his arms above his head, you lifted yourself up to reach the wound and lick at the blood, then lowered yourself onto his cock again. Up again, down, repeat.

The more blood ran from the wound, the more it burned on your tongue and the more desire you found in Crowley's eyes. Neither the burning nor the physical exertion bothered you, though. You felt the blood rushing through your veins like liquid energy, making you hot and dizzy and awesome. The knife clattered to the floor, forgotten and you jumped at the noise. A glass on the nightstand shattered and Crowley laughed. 

"Easy, kitten."

Huh? Had you done that? How the hell had you shattered a glass?

Needing more of the rush, you got into motion again. But within a few moments, you realized it wasn't good enough. You needed to share that feeling. Jumping off Crowley and nearly falling headfirst to the floor, you collected the knife and slid it across your wrist in one fast move. Thankfully, you didn't cut too deep in your eagerness. Crowley fastened himself to your vein, drinking down your blood and, judging by the look on his face, enjoying it as much as you did. 

It didn't take long for you to sense that wonderful tingling in your cunt that indicated you were close. The feeling of his cock, stretching you, the forbiddenness of the sharing of your blood and the rush from drinking it all worked together to make little fireworks spark inside, burning harder and longer than ever before. With your eyes closed, you rode out the waves, rocking slightly on top of him and feeling wetness run down your thighs, then disappear. Still dizzy and on your high, you felt like you were walking on a cloud or flying and, when you opened your eyes, you realized you were not wrong. Somehow, you had floated up to the ceiling and lay there, back against the cool stone, without the feeling of gravitation pulling you down.

Since Crowley looked more amused than self-satisfied, you thought it must have been the demon powers from the blood manifesting inside you that had caused your accident. How exactly you had managed to stick yourself to the ceiling, though, you didn't know.

You subsequently spent an eternity on the ceiling of the room, naked and breathing fast, high in spirits and experiencing far more than you ever had before. You knew now what Cas had meant when he had explained to you how he felt about eating a sandwich and tasting the molecules. You felt all your blood parts racing through your veins and every single hair on your skin stand on end, heard the air moving in the room and tasted colors. Crowley seemed to approve, shooting up little sparks to keep the good feelings coming.

You stayed on the ceiling for what could have been minutes or hours, Crowley always underneath you, watching. Apart from shattering a few more objects, you couldn't control the powers any further. When you finally came down, Crowley caught you (literally), and you fell asleep in his arms with the feeling that you had done something supremely stupid.

*

Still, you continued sharing your blood with him and taking his in return every once in a while; drinking or, later, shooting up. You had a horrible conscience, knowing what the boys thought about this habit. But you told yourself were using, not abusing. Was there even a way to use demon blood responsibly? You were a little sorry to say your moral compass had started to drift slightly off the straight course it had been on when you had lived with the Winchesters. 

On the plus side, when you were high on demon blood, you could actually see Juliet, watch the light reflect on her sleek fur, her lovely face and the long, sharp teeth she could rip people apart with. When she realized you really looked at her for the first time, she was ecstatic, jumping around you and trying to lick at your face. You seized the opportunity to cuddle with her to your heart's desire. Even though the ability to see her didn't stick after the blood wore off, at least now you knew what you were looking at when her collar moved around the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not yet the end, there's still a little bit more to come!


	24. Chapter 24

One step, then the next. You stayed put for a moment, trying to collect yourself enough to clear your mind and focus again. The book in front of you slowly stopped wobbling. Breathe in, breathe out. You were lucky you were alone in the corridor leading from the library to Crowley's quarters. It was possible you looked a bit stupid with your arms stretched out and the book levitating a few inches above them. 

After months of practice, moving things a little was all you could do, if you concentrated hard. But it wasn't nothing and you wanted to keep going. Hell was dangerous and Crowley was not always around. You did trust Guthrie not to harm you, but the other demons? Not so much. More power was good, even if it was witchcraft. Up to now you had managed to keep your practice hidden from Crowley as well as the boys – there was no reason to tell anyone what you were doing and that you probably wouldn't qualify as one hundred percent hunter anymore. Not that you intended to use it for anything but self-defense and the greater good.

Approaching a corner, you swerved carefully to the left to avoid one of many curled iron rods sticking out of the stone wall. It was turned upwards and seemed to be made either for pulling back curtains or hanging lamps. The maneuver almost made you lose control of the book and you cursed. 

Stiletto step sounds from ahead around the corner broke your concentration fully and you hurried to catch the falling book. Before you had time to straighten up, something hairy and reeking of flowers collided with you. Oh great, your favorite, Anaïs.

"Watch where you're going," you told her and pushed her off you. 

Sneering, she bumped hard into your shoulder on the way past you – on purpose. You couldn't believe it. Anaïs had always been a bit less than polite with you, but you didn't remember any open hostilities – she did want to stay in the King's good graces, or so you had thought. 

"Fuck you, _princess_ ," Anaïs replied, loudly enough for you to hear, and started to turn away. 

Anger bubbled hotly in your stomach at her behavior.

"Stay right here," you called after her and reached to pull her back. In reflex, she threw off your hand and pushed you back into the wall with full demon strength. 

In the moment of your impact, a very strange feeling came over you. You were suddenly very still, afraid to move even an inch. Your head hadn't collided with the wall too hard, but you felt something warm at your back. When you focused on Anaïs again, you saw a look of horror on her face. Well, you had expected contrition, but that was a bit much. 

One of your legs started to wobble and you realized in panic you were moving. Why panic? The unsettling hot thing on your back touched you again. Anaïs was looking down now and you followed her gaze to the iron rod sticking out of your chest. 

Oh. 

Now you realized why moving was a bad idea. Only, not moving wouldn't save you, in this case. Trying to take a deep breath, you found only a wheezing noise was coming from you. 

"Oh fuck, I'm dead," Anaïs breathed and turned around again to run off. 

Tears burned hotly at the corners of your eyes. If she was going to leave you here, alone deep in the dungeons, you'd probably suffocate or bleed to death before anyone found you.

"Anaïs," you whispered. "Help me."

She stopped and turned around, seeming unsure. It would be better for her if you survived. Running wouldn't do her any good if Crowley found out and unleashed his wrath on her. You hoped she knew that, because there was no way you could explain it in your current condition.

"Winchesters have… healing cup… take my phone," you pressed out, trying to stay conscious. If you could only convince her, you had a chance. 

She hovered for another moment, undecided. When she turned towards you with a bitch face worthy of a Winchester, you knew she would try and the tears finally spilled hotly from you.

Gingerly, she patted down your clothes for your phone and, when she had found it, held it out for you to unlock it.

"Call Sam," you said, letting the book fall to the floor. It was too much to just stay upright, never mind holding the stupid thing. 

Sighing, she did. You didn't care about her attitude, what mattered was that she tried not to get you killed. When Sam picked up the phone, you could hardly speak through the strain of staying upright. Quickly, you assured him that you did really need the cup, no, not a case of Poughkeepsie. Thankfully, Anaïs took over explaining then. She conveniently left out that you were dying on the wall of a corridor in hell, but Sam explained the location to the bunker to her anyways and Anaïs disappeared. 

Being alone in this situation was even worse than hanging on the hook with Anaïs watching, for some reason. You focused on breathing as shallowly as you could and after an eternity, Anaïs finally returned, with a full cup. She put it to the side on the floor, then gripped your shoulders. Worried, you wondered what she was intending to do.

A moment later, pain exploded in your belly when the ornaments on the rod that were perfidiously pointing backwards tore into your flesh and – you didn't even want to imagine – your lungs. With another strong tug, you were pulled off the rod and laid down on the floor. Anaïs dragged your upper body up and against her, lifted your head and put the cup to your lips. It took a few tries – torn lungs didn't make drinking easier – but finally, you managed to take a sip and immediately felt the pain lessen.

You kept your eyes off your chest on purpose, not wanting to see the damage, but you could feel the breathing getting easier by the moment. A few sips later, you started to cough and realized your body could withstand the vibrations without hurting. A careful glance down revealed a lot of blood, but unblemished skin on your chest. Now, after everything was over, you started to tremble and held on to Anaïs until your body quietened down again. 

"Fuck, that was close," Anaïs said, finally pushing you off her and leaning back against the wall, a good distance from the rod. 

"You don't say," you commented sarcastically, then had to laugh. You had been lucky this time. There had been no guarantee that Anaïs would stay and help you.

"Thanks for helping me," you said, more softly. Even if it had been her fault you needed saving, she had saved your life, after all. Anaïs, to your surprise, didn't even look remotely cheerful.

"Yeah, awesome, I'm a heroine. Only, he's going to kill me anyways when he hears about this," she said, burying her head in her hands. 

She was right, too. Crowley would never let her go unpunished if he heard how you had been harmed and he wasn't squeamish. The best she could hope for was a quick death. You pondered what to do.

"Then I guess you should keep your mouth shut about it," you finally answered carefully. She hadn't intended to kill you, of that you were sure. There was no need for more blood to be spilled. 

Anaïs looked at you with suspicion. 

"And you're not going to tell him?"

You shook your head. 

"Why?"

You sighed. What the hell did you know? She was supposed to be jumping around in joy you were both fine, not questioning you on your motives. 

"I don't want you dead," you answered truthfully. Anaïs still looked wary. You shrugged. 

"It's the truth, believe it or not."

She didn't seem to fully believe but accept it, for the moment. 

Standing up, you noticed the cup still lying on the floor and collected it. You had to call Sam immediately and let him know you were fine, as soon as you had returned to Crowley's rooms. 

Anaïs hovered in front of you while you picked the book up from the floor. 

"Madam," she greeted, with a little more grace than you were used to from her, and left quickly.

Crowley was out when you arrived in his rooms, so you could incinerate your torn and bloody clothes and talk to Sam in private. Anaïs had made a calm enough impression that he hadn't realized the danger you had been in and that was fine. Everything was okay and you looked forwards to Anaïs behaving more politely in the future.

*

You managed to keep the incident quiet and after a few weeks, Anaïs stopped sending you distrustful looks. It was possible she had realized you weren't holding it over her head just to let the bomb drop and snitch on her at the appropriate moment.

Crowley, oblivious to what had happened, seemed a little distracted lately. You didn't know whether it had to do with the many companies he was directing from the background, his rule in hell or the fact that your relationship was getting old. It worried you that he didn't complain anymore when you asked him to take you up to the boys for a hunt or just a visit and that the signs of his possessiveness had diminished a lot. You didn't want him to be jealous, of course, but it had always been nice to know he cared about you. Maybe your relationship needed a bit of spicing up.

The boys and you had just killed a shifter a few states from the bunker and returned mostly unharmed, when a way to bring something new to your relationship occurred to you. While unloading your gear from baby's trunk, your eyes fell upon a pair of handcuffs.

Up to now, it had always been Crowley calling the shots. Even with the help of a devil's trap stripping him of his demon powers, he was stronger than you were. If you wanted to change that and be in charge for once, you needed something to immobilize him completely – something like the demon handcuffs.

Since Crowley had the Seal, there were no rogue demons and the Winchesters didn't have much use for the cuffs anymore. You were sure they'd lend them to you. The difficulty lay in the procuring without telling the boys what you wanted them for. You considered "borrowing" them without telling anyone, but that would be a break of trust you didn't want to commit. So there was no way around asking at least one of the boys. 

Which brought you to the question: whom? Which Winchester was more likely to tease you about it for the next few months or roll his eyes in lack of understanding? To the outsider, it would seem that Dean was the daredevil, easily chatting his way into girls' pants, looking for no more than one passionate night with each woman while Sam, the understanding and quiet bookworm was just as fine at home with a cup of tea until he found his true love. But you knew them better. Living together in such close quarters and traveling together meant that you noticed how they interacted with other people. You had witnessed how Dean charmed the girls, all sweet words and gentle touches, finding his pleasure in caring for others. You had also stumbled into Sam in the alleyway behind a pub you had visited together, pushing a girl up against a wall, kissing and biting her fiercely. Sam would understand your need for a bit of something different.

Dean headed for the shower while Sam brought your gear to the war room to clean later. As soon as Dean was out of hearing range, you took the chance to approach Sam and ask.

"… so would you miss them in the next, say, two weeks?"

Sam looked surprised for a moment. "But I thought the demons were in line-"

Sam knew about the Seals and that there were no disobeying demons anymore, so he'd only have to add two and two to guess at your objective.

"All but one," you joked, then let your expression do the rest of the explaining. 

Understanding dawned on Sam's face then and he raised his eyebrows at you. You shrugged. 

Your conversation was cut short as Dean reappeared to get his bag after all and you split up to wash the rest of the shifter off yourselves. Sam guessed by your stealthy questioning that you didn't want Dean overhearing the request and didn't continue the conversation when you returned to the couch, freshly washed.

The rest of the evening passed in a comfortable, quiet atmosphere. The hunt had left you drained and it was still early when you took off. You had waved goodbye at Sam and Dean and planned on slipping away without a more formal greeting that would require them to get up from the couch, but Sam rose and hugged you, surreptitiously shoving a small, clothed item into your jacket before you left the bunker. 

"Thanks," you whispered and grinned. Sam gave you an awkward thumbs-up, probably not very certain whether he was all for your plans or didn't want to ever hear of them (or both options at the same time). Since the cuffs were wrapped in cloth, they didn't jingle in your coat pocket and you kept them concealed on the zap back downstairs. 

There were places in hell where people who excelled in warding could store things they didn't want anybody else to find and you hadn't trained with the best hunters for nothing. The cuffs went into an empty book in the library that could neither be found nor opened by a demon. On the way there, you thought for a moment your plan had been exposed when two demons, upon meeting you, turned to each other, whispering and giggling. After you had stored the cuffs, you were sure you had been imagining things. The demons couldn't know about the cuffs or any of your plans. Crowley had assured you he couldn't read minds, and if he couldn't, neither could they. 

You kept the cuffs secret, hoping that an opportunity for their use would arise in the near future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, you lovely people, for taking so much time to update! Love seeing your kudos and read the comments (even if I don't answer right away, but obsess over them for a few weeks first ;))!


	25. Chapter 25

Step two of your plan happened on a trip with Crowley. He had taken you to Paris for a bit of shopping and – later – dinner, but, to your delight, left you alone for a part of the shopping. As you strolled down the streets you found a stylish little boutique with a lot of black feathers, dangerously high heels and an arrangement of leather straps displayed in the window and saw your chance. A quick exchange of a few coins later, you were the proud owner of a second pair of handcuffs.

Over the afternoon, they were hidden deeper and deeper by the various items that found their way into your bags on top of them. Parisian fashion was wonderful, as were the shops that offered books in all languages. You had taken to buying fairy tales from around the world and studying them for the hidden truths about supernatural beings. Paris was a great source for these books.

Crowley found you still inside a book shop, hidden behind a stack of bestsellers. You quickly closed the romance novel you had been reading and surreptitiously pushed it under a few detective stories. Crowley didn't comment, but the corners of his mouth curled upwards in amusement, so you guessed he just pretended not to notice. 

Sure enough, when you were zapped home for a quick change before dinner, the romance novel you had been looking at mysteriously appeared next to Crowley's bed. You almost missed it in your haste to hide the second pair of cuffs well enough to keep them out of Crowley's sight until you had time to move them to your secret place in the library.

Dinner took place on the twentieth floor of a skyscraper, again in Paris. You were seated at a table next to the glass window that spanned the whole side of the building. The city was glittering enchantingly in the dark outside and you could see the evening traffic and the planes landing at the airport a few miles away. Crowley was all focused on you for a change, which reassured you. 

"There'll be no more visits to Julien for a while, I'm afraid," Crowley announced when you had just started eating your crème brûlée. 

"Oh?" you replied. That was a pity. After buying your dresses, you had returned a few select times to do unspeakable things with the lovely young man. Julien had been adventurous and not at all deterred by his belief that you were a witch. He had welcomed the both of you just as happy as you alone, with new language skills and a lower voice, courtesy of your possessive (in the truest meaning of the word, in that case) lover.

"What's up with him?" you asked, savoring the taste of vanilla on your tongue. 

Crowley smiled and took a sip of coffee. "I tried to invite him for dinner this evening and he told me he's on daddy duty. Apparently, a short while ago, one of his former conquests informed him that he has a child and has moved in with him."

You snorted in amusement. That sounded like Julien all right. He was sweet, but sometimes so carefree that he got himself into interesting situations.

"Good for him," you replied. "He's going to be a great dad."

Crowley studied you in silence for some time. 

"Children can be fulfilling… to the right person."

He let that statement hang and fell silent again, scratching his beard. You wondered whether he was thinking about his own kids. He had told you about them, some time ago. Well, at least he had told you as much about them as he knew himself, which wasn't a whole lot. 

"I guess," you answered carefully, unsure what he was getting at.

"Some people put so much value in family, they couldn't live without having children," he added casually. 

Aha, so that was the way the wind blew. It was typical of him not to ask you straightforwardly, but dance around the issue until you caught on. 

"Some people can live without," you said, holding his gaze, "family comes in many forms."

You thought of your boys. They were family, without question. Cas, strange as he was, was family. And so was Crowley, by now. You couldn't imagine being without him anymore. Of course, your relationship was doomed in the long term, what with you being human and all. The only hope you had was that your occasional blood exchange would slow your aging process so much that you'd get a lifetime of relative youth to spend with him.

Crowley raised his eyebrows. "I suppose you're talking about those brainless lumbering piles of muscle?"

You returned his stare with a raised eyebrow of your own. "Among _others_."

Mollified, he signaled the waiter for the check and slid a few banknotes into the bill holder. Standing up, he offered you his hand. 

"Let's go downstairs for more dessert."

You stood and took his hand. 

"Yeah, let's go home."

*

The evening in Paris had been nice, and the night that followed was even nicer. 

In the following weeks, however, there was no time for romance. Crowley was working and you were hunting, spending time in the bunker or waiting for him in hell, reading and further organizing the library. Whenever you saw each other, it was only in passing. You knew there was a big thing coming up, Crowley was preparing to take over yet another company, one specialized in data processing, which would help him as well as Winchesters, but you didn't like spending so much time alone. Waiting for him in hell took ages, since time ran differently from topside.

He did take the time to zap you up to the boys whenever you asked, though. 

You had just finished a donut run with Dean one afternoon when a firm knock on the door startled you. Had somebody followed you to the bunker? Sam went to get the door and a few moments later, you heard stiletto heels walking down the stairs. 

"Y/n," Sam called. "It's for you."

To your surprise, Anaïs was standing in front of you, scowling and obviously uncomfortable in the presence of three hunters. Although that was unlike him, you wondered whether Crowley had sent her. 

"Can we talk alone?" she asked by the way of greeting, far too haughtily for her position. "Madam?" she added quickly when you kept looking at her.

Dean's eyebrows rose.

"Sure," you replied and quickly led the way to your room. 

Anaïs relaxed visibly when you had closed the door behind you.

"What's up?" you asked, interested. It didn't seem like she had been sent and while you thought the two of you were cool, you were a long way from popping over to each other's homes to braid your hair and exchange guy stories. 

She inspected her fingernails. "I owe you one and it's time to even the score."

You kept looking at her without asking further. If she wanted to talk, she would. You weren't going to drag it out of her. Finally, she looked up at you.

"The King is entertaining someone in his quarters at the moment," she said, picking her words carefully.

Stunned, you wondered how to fit that piece of information into your view of the world. Your mind started racing. Crowley could have any reason to entertain guests, couldn't he? He would have told you if there was something you had to know. You trusted him and he trusted you and there was no reason to act all jealous and hurt. Still, the answer that came out of your mouth was:

"What exactly do you mean, _entertaining_?"

She shrugged. "What do you think I mean? Do you think I'd be here if he was having a business meeting?"

You sat down on your chair. Okay, that explained his behavior, why he had seemed absent and why he had been glad to zap you to the bunker. Since he was the one taking you up and down, he always knew when you were out, where you were and when you returned. The perfect set-up for infidelity, basically.

"Oh come on, you had to know he's fucking around," Anaïs commented, rather insensitively. "Why do you think he's been taking you up so much?"

Ouch, that hurt. Yes, if you thought back, you had known, deep in your heart, that something hadn't been right with the two of you, but still, you had trusted him. Also, who said Anaïs wasn't lying to gain something? Maybe Crowley had a perfectly good explanation for his visitor. 

"Let him," you said, trying to force your voice into a cool and unconcerned tone but managing only to sound pitiful and sullen. "I don't care."

"NO," Anaïs' hand went down hard on your table and you started. "Everybody's already talking behind your back and making fun of you."

"So what?" you answered mulishly. Let the demons talk. You didn't care about them one way or another. 

Anaïs watched you angrily. "So what? Why do you think you're alive? Only by the grace of the King, because his people know he wants you to stay in good health. What do you think is going to happen if they think he doesn't care anymore? That you're expendable?"

You stayed silent. Maybe it was better if you just stayed topside for a while. If he really didn't want you anymore, he might not mind if you didn't call to be taken back down.

Anaïs snorted. "And to think they said you were more than just the Winchesters' tag-along..." 

You remembered why you had disliked her from the beginning. She had a way of hurting you without even trying, hitting all your sore spots by chance. You knew you were having a little breakdown and feeling sorry for yourself and you did not need anybody to point that out.

"Well, what do you suggest? What should I do?" you snapped at her. "Call him and beg him to send her away?"

Pinching her nose, Anaïs looked as if she were trying very hard not to slap some sense into you. "Are you a hunter or not? Grab a knife and show them what happens if they try to steal your man, what else?"

"And who's going to take me down there?"

"Me, obviously! Or do you have any other offers?" she snapped back.

"No!"

"Okay!"

Well, maybe you weren't angry with _her_ , really. Don't kill the messenger and all that.

You left Anaïs in the war room while you got Ehud's dagger out of the safe. A demon knife would have sufficed, but you liked the emotional value. It had been a gift from Crowley, he had wanted you to defend yourself with it and that was exactly what you were going to do.

"I've got something to do downstairs," you told Sam when you passed him on his way to the kitchen. 

"Need help?" he asked over his shoulder, watching you sheath the dagger in a holster on your back. 

You declined politely. This was something you had to do by yourself. 

*

"I didn't know you could zap others around," you told Anaïs when you were standing in front of the bunker together. 

"I'm not sure I can. I expect a massive headache," Anaïs grumbled. "Make yourself light."

Before you could wonder how on earth you were supposed to 'make yourself light' in a non-literal, demon-transporty way, Anaïs had grabbed your sleeve and you were standing in hell, only a corner away from the throne room. 

"Fuck, that hurts," Anaïs said, clutching her head. "Good luck." 

She walked off, obviously declaring her part finished. 

You made your way through the hall to Crowley's quarters. Now that Anaïs had told you what his minions were thinking about you, you noticed those standing around staring, talking and laughing as you passed them. You scowled and steeled yourself for what awaited you. 

Up to now you had been able to treat Anaïs' information as a mere possibility, but as soon as you'd open the door to his quarters, the hard truth would be waiting for you – whatever that was. 

In the end, you didn't have to guess. When you arrived, the sounds from inside made it quite clear what was happening there and that Anaïs had not been lying to you.

In the heat of the moment, you were so nervous about what you were going to do that the pain of his betrayal didn't even register. You ran your hand over the door and almost regretted that it clicked open at your touch. No excuses not to enter. You silently slid the door open enough to slip inside.

You had been quiet enough not to be noticed yet, but as soon as you moved into the room, you'd come into Crowley's line of vision, if he looked past the demon enthusiastically moving on top of him – and there was it, the pang of hurt you had been expecting all along. For a moment, you just stood there, watching him look at the bitch with an expression of delight that was usually reserved for you. 

The thought spurred you into action and you slowly walked up to the bed until you were standing right behind the demon's back. Crowley's eyes widened in surprise when he spotted you and he grabbed the unsuspecting demon's hips, stilling them. Before he could say anything and try to sell his infidelity as some kind of service to you, you grabbed your dagger and stuck it into the naked demon's back as she was turning her head towards you. The following crackle of energy during her – far too quick – death was very satisfying.

"Bloody hell," Crowley cursed and pushed the body off himself. "What – how -"

It was the first time you had seen him completely speechless. Apparently he had been sure in his belief that you wouldn't find your way down to hell without his help. 

With a snap of his fingers, Crowley was dressed again and approaching you, but you took a step back. You didn't want to see or talk to him at the moment. The only reason you were still here was Anaïs' warning concerning his other lackeys. You raised the dagger you were still holding in your right hand and he stopped. Into your left, you took the ponytail of the bitch he had been fucking – at least her hairdo was convenient, if nothing else – and dragged her off the bed. She was heavy, but the way to the throne room was short and you were so full of adrenaline, you hardly registered the strain on your muscles. 

You didn't spare Crowley a glance as you left the room, but felt his eyes on you. Now that the element of surprise was gone, he and his demon strength had the upper hand again. You figured he had to be curious as to what you were going to do now, since he didn't stop you, although he could have.

When you reached the throne room, you saw that Anaïs had not been finished when she had walked off. The number of demons present had at least tripled since you had come back from the bunker and they seemed to be waiting for something.

The whispering turned to loud chatter when you walked in. In a far corner, Anaïs, casually leaning against a wall, smirked at you. You dragged the naked body up until you were standing directly in front of the throne, then looked at the crowd and waited for silence. When it had fallen, you realized you didn't have a speech prepared. That would be Crowley's kind of thing, telling the demons in many spoken words and about as many unspoken ones what they needed to hear to follow his orders. You didn't have that kind of eloquence, but in this moment, you didn't need it. The body spoke for itself.

"You might have heard rumors about my generosity in sharing the King with every pretty little demon sycophant trying to fuck her way up to the top of the food chain in hell, and let me tell you, they're greatly exaggerated."

A few of the demons – mainly male ones – laughed. 

"I don't share and I don't ask nicely for anyone to back off."

You let go of the ponytail and kicked the body down the few steps from the throne where it stopped and lay on its front, head turned to the side and dead eyes staring at the wall. The smudged lipstick reminded you of the picture she had made with Crowley and fueled your anger.

" _She_ learned that the hard way. Anybody else got designs on the King?" you asked, hoping that there wouldn't be a lot of takers. You hadn't brought any back up and while the dagger in your hand was more than worth its weight in gold, against a group of demons it wouldn't help much. Thankfully, nobody spoke up.

"Good. He's mine and mine alone. Remember that."

From the corner of your eye, you saw Crowley leaning against the door of the corridor leading to the throne room, hidden from his followers. He was watching you intensely, with an expression that was hard to read.

"Anemos!" you called one of the demons standing closest to you. "Take out the garbage for me, will you?"

Anemos thought about it for a moment, then inclined his head. "Of course, your grace."

"Thank you," you said, stepped down from the throne and walked out. Crowley had disappeared already and was waiting for you in his quarters, sitting in a chair and sipping whiskey. To a stranger he would seem cool as a cucumber, but you noticed him watch your every move.

"Well done, kitten," he said when you entered the room. "That was quite a show."

The bed was perfectly made and there was no trace of anybody else ever having been here. Still, you felt horrible standing there. And to make matters worse, Crowley was ignoring what had happened and made small talk.

"Can't say I enjoyed it," you finally answered, declining the drink Crowley offered. 

Like before, he stood and walked towards you, like before, you took a step back. 

"Take me up, please."

"Oh, come on, kitten, it's not like we never shared before..."

As you had thought, he tried to downplay everything. 

"I must have missed the memo to be here in time for the fun, then," you snapped. 

Another step forwards brought him in range for the dagger, which you raised in reflex.

"I'm sorry, I didn't think it would bother you so much," he cajoled. "She didn't mean anything to me."

He pressed on until the dagger was scratching along the skin of his neck. A few small drops of blood welled up. 

"Let me make it up to you," he said, extending his hand to you. 

Taking it would mean comfort and safety and damn your eyes were fixed on the blood, you knew how great it would feel to just take a lick, you'd forget all your worries in a heartbeat; also Crowley was sufficiently excited by your killing that he would show you a really good time. But no, you had your pride. Also, he hadn't even taken a shower and expected you to go to bed with him while he still had _her_ juices on him?

"Take me up, please," you repeated, not taking down the dagger. You knew he didn't need to touch you to zap you up. 

"All right, be like that," he let his hand fall and, with a snap, you were standing in front of the bunker. "Is that it?"

Confused, you wondered what the hell he was talking about. 

"Are we done?" he clarified his question when you didn't answer. 

You went still. What? "Is that what you want?"

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "You're giving me the impression that it's what you want, love."

You snorted. "Are you crazy? After everything… do you think I love you so little that this would make me leave for good?"

He shrugged. "La donna è mobile."

Whatever that meant. Deflecting the question like an expert, typical of him.

"Well, I don't. So don't get too comfortable with your whores down there."

You knew it was mean, but couldn't help the dig. 

Crowley rolled his eyes. "It was just the once and I never-"

"Stop it," you cut him off. You just wanted to get inside the bunker, fall onto the couch and drink. "Think about what you want."

"I know what I want," he said irritably.

"Then maybe you should try showing that, for a change."

You turned to walk inside, but Crowley caught your sleeve. 

"I won't let you go without a kiss," he said, tugging you closer. Tired of fighting, you let him. 

"Yes, you will," you answered and tried to turn away again. 

Crowley sighed and held on to you. "Yes, I will, but I'd rather not. What do I have to do to get a kiss?"

"Grovel," you answered and to your annoyance, a smile was threatening to creep onto your lips. 

"Tomorrow," you added when his eyes lightened up and he seemed to think everything was to be resolved right now. "I'll spend the night here and we'll see about everything else tomorrow."


End file.
